by Giles Carwyn
The Carriers kept their swords out. Slowly, they closed on Astor.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Brophy said, as they took Astor’s arms. He didn’t resist, turned to Brophy with a dazed look.
“The Empress Regent has already given orders that the survivors are not to be harmed.”
“Empress Regent?”
The Carrier gave a quick, terse bow of the head. “His Eternal Wisdom’s sleeve has passed beyond our grasp. He has taken his final steps into the welcoming darkness of Oh’s cave.”
“What?” Brophy whispered, looking quickly at Astor. The boy’s gaze focused on the stone floor.
Brophy sprinted for the steps.
Brophy’s feet barely touched the ground all the way back to the quay. The walls of the canyon flew by in a blur. He charged through the sulfur mists of the boiling bay and up the ramp onto the Emperor’s flagship.
For a moment, he thought he was back in the nightmare. Bodies littered the deck, both Ohohhim and Ohndarien. Blood stained the wood in patches.
“By the Seasons…”
A half dozen Ohndarien Lightning Swords lay facedown on the far side of the ship, trussed up hand and foot. A wounded Carrier stood guard over them. Arefaine’s handmaidens were arranging the corpses in an orderly row. Several Zelani were among the dead. Three other Carriers stood protectively over a small figure hunched over one of the bodies, lying separate from the others. The Carriers ignored him, their eyes stoically fixed on nothing.
“No,” Brophy murmured, moving closer.
Arefaine looked over her shoulder at him. Tears painted tracks in the white powder of her face. The Emperor’s head lay in her lap.
He knelt beside her, and she followed him with her eyes.
“He knew,” she whispered, looking back down at the Emperor’s placid, unmoving face. “He told me this would happen. He could have stopped them. He could have left at any time.”
Brophy wrapped his arm around her shoulder, squeezed. “I know.”
“I don’t understand. He said he did it for me, but why? How could this possibly make a difference?”
Brophy looked into her pale blue eyes. She searched his face desperately. He leaned toward her, and she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly as she cried.
Brophy had a guess why the Emperor had done it, but he couldn’t tell her. Not now. Not yet.
CHAPTER 38
Lawdon stood at the stern of her ship, Moon Maiden. It actually belonged to Shara, but the uncharacteristically quiet Zelani had waved her off when Lawdon mentioned it.
“What need do I have of a ship?” she asked, still looking north across the sea spotted with islands.
Lawdon stared at the charred wreckage that lay upon the shifting Summer Seas. What remained of the Floating Palace bumped against her hull as she slid through the morning waters.
To the east, Jesheks’s ship flew Vinghelt’s colors. The bodies of three Physendrians dangled from the bowsprit, the lower halves of their bodies chewed away by the sharks.
A mighty host had gathered in Seahome Bay. They had come from all over. Gildheld, Munkheld, Ardheld, Koscheld, and even some from Reignheld. Every Waveborn and peasant patriot had emerged in the last two days, and more were sailing north to join Vinghelt’s host.
The entire Summer Fleet was gathering for the first time in five hundred years. More ships arrived every hour, packed with eager recruits drunk on revenge and the free ale gushing through Vinghelt’s fingers.
Lord Vinghelt had emerged from the wreckage of his ship like the reincarnation of Salice Mick. His men had barely dragged him out of the water before he started barking orders, leading the hopeless fight against the flames that consumed the Floating Palace.
The prince’s aquiline face had been torn open by the blade of one of the Physendrian saboteurs, or so Vinghelt claimed. No one doubted the prince’s story about the Physendrian saboteurs once he produced their bodies. Hundreds of witnesses had seen them posing as wine stewards, and the blaze had obviously started with wine casks filled with whale oil.
Natshea had admitted to lighting the blaze on the Glory of Summer, so Vinghelt must have been behind the attack somehow. It had certainly played right into his hands. But why would he allow himself to be trapped in his own ship? None of it made any sense, but no one wanted to listen to Lawdon’s doubts and concerns. The Summermen wanted blood, and they intended to get it.
Vinghelt’s albino physician probably knew the truth, but he had drowned or burned to death in the conflagration. The only other possible witness was the single Physendrian who had escaped. But half the Waveborn young men had rushed off, vowing to return with his head. Lawdon held little hope that his story would ever be heard.
She glanced at Shara, whose black hair was blowing in the light breeze. Her oversized white peasant shirt billowed back like a sail. There was a story surrounding that shirt. It was not Shara’s style, and it didn’t particularly suit her. But when Lawdon asked her about it, she only smiled a little and shook her head.
Lawdon and Mikal had spent a day and a half searching the wreckage for Shara’s body, and had nearly given her up for dead when the Zelani showed up in bright daylight the very next morning, wearing the man’s shirt and a brown dress.
“I thought it would be better if I stayed out of sight until Vinghelt was looking the other way,” she had said. Lawdon didn’t know what had happened to Shara in those two days with the albino, but she suddenly seemed like the woman Lawdon had known many years ago, at ease with herself, quietly confident, not showy without a purpose.
Lawdon’s gaze lingered on Shara’s back. No, it was more than that. Shara had never seemed so at peace as she did now, so clear. She seemed like a woman who knew what must be done and exactly how she planned to do it. The cocksure daring that had marked her arrival at the Floating Palace was gone. Somehow, Shara suddenly didn’t have a thing to prove to anyone.
Turning away, Lawdon looked back at Vinghelt’s new ship. Shouts and whistles erupted for a moment, then faded away. Vinghelt was giving another speech. The man had been giving speeches every hour for three days. There were always new recruits, and he was always willing to fill their heads with his vision.
Lawdon frowned and spat into the water. Watching the man spin lies into gold was even worse than knowing that her idea had saved his miserable life. Still, how could she be bitter? She had also saved Shara. The Waveborn got Vinghelt, and Lawdon got Shara.
When hearing the news of Vinghelt’s ascension, Shara had shaken her head, brushed Lawdon’s hair back from her face, and looked at her like a mother might look at a dirt-smeared child. “The game is not over yet,” she said, then went to the portside rail and watched the northern horizon, waiting patiently until Moon Maiden was ready to sail. Lawdon had a horrible time trying to find a crew to man the ship. She finally located a handful of Reignholtz’s men who were willing to join them. It wasn’t a full crew, but Lawdon could handle the Maiden shorthanded if she needed to.
Despite what Shara said, the bitter gall of Vinghelt’s call to war stung the back of Lawdon’s throat. The man’s victory was complete. Everything that Reignholtz had fought and died for was lost.
Shara suggested that they make immediately for Ohndarien. There was still hope that they could convince the council to bar the gates and send the Summer Fleet away. Without the resources or experience to lay siege to Ohndarien, the Summermen would eventually lose interest and go home.
Lawdon bit her lip. She wished she had more faith in the Ohndariens, but every time she allowed herself to believe in Shara’s plan, she felt Suvian’s fingers in her mind, felt his fingers sliding over her stomach and down her breeches.
Mikal moved up alongside her, leaning his palms on the rail. He stared at the host of ships, listened to the shouting and cheering, and didn’t say anything.
She liked that about him. Before Shara, before they returned to the Summer Cities, Mikal felt the need to fill every silence, but the duel with L
eftblade had changed him. In many ways he was back to his old self. He had resumed flirting with her, and from time to time he spouted his bad verse to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn’t. But this time, there was a core of steel beneath his foppish veneer.
“Shara and I are over,” he said suddenly, still watching Vinghelt’s ship.
“Let me guess. She caught you humping the maid,” Lawdon said.
The side of Mikal’s lip curled, and the corners of his eyes grew crow’s-feet. “Well, it wasn’t just that.”
“You humped someone else?”
Mikal drew a deep breath and gave her a brittle smile. “She’s in love. Always has been. Who knew?”
“Only the entire civilized world, and probably most of the uncivilized world. Have you never heard the epic poem ‘The Ward of Autumn’?”
“In other words, everyone but me.”
“So it would seem.”
“Some fellow named Brophy. The way she talks about him, you’d think he saved the world.”
She chuckled, but Mikal didn’t laugh, and she sobered.
“I’m sorry,” Lawdon said. “That must be difficult for you.”
He shrugged. “It’s for the best. If I didn’t let her go, I’d probably have to fight him eventually, and I wouldn’t want someone Shara cared about to die.”
She raised an eyebrow, looked at him. “Brophy won the Nine Squares, you know.”
“Oh, I meant me. The dying part, that is. Very sad for Shara. Want to spare her that.”
She laughed.
They both watched Vinghelt’s boat for a while. The cheering quieted, and you could almost hear the Summer Prince’s words as his voice carried across the wreckage-strewn waters.
“So now what?” Lawdon asked. “It’s back to maid-humping?”
He smiled again. “Oh, I think I’ve acquired a taste for love, Fessa help me.”
She swallowed. “So what are you saying? That a man like you can now be tied down by one woman?”
“I’d let the right woman tie me up.” He smirked.
“I said down, not up.”
“Up, down, back, forth. It’s all the same on a ship.”
She shook her head. “Why come north, then?” She tipped her head at Shara, still staring to the west, peasant shirt billowing out behind her. “Why torture yourself?”
“Would you prefer I join the glorious warriors of truth over there? Make myself a necklace from dusteaters’ big toes?”
“That’s not what I meant. There is much you could do here. What about all of the lonely women?”
He looked over at her for the first time. Distant cheers rose again from Vinghelt’s ship.
“Think of all the betrothed, intended, and even married lasses that are being left behind,” Lawdon said. “Someone must comfort them.”
“Sad, but true,” he said, “but I think I’ve had my fill of lonely women.”
“Have you moved on to lonely men, then? Lonely little boys?”
“Your tongue is wicked enough to make you a duelist. You wouldn’t even need the sword.”
“I believe I’ve had enough of poet duels,” she said.
“Indeed,” he said, nodding, then interjected, “No, I think I shall be celibate for a time.”
She laughed. “Now that I would like to see.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Careful what you wish for, my love, you may get it.”
She found she could not form a snappy reply. Licking her lips, she turned away from Vinghelt’s ship and faced the cool sea breeze. She cleared her throat and called out an order. The sailors in the rigging reset the sails. She spun the wheel around and set a course for the edge of the bay.
Mikal shifted his position also, turning and leaning back on the rail with his elbows.
“Time for a new tack?” he asked.
Lawdon wished she didn’t blush so easily. “I guess so,” she said crisply.
“Let’s make it a good one.”
The ship slid free of the dark debris of the Floating Palace, heading north toward Ohndarien.
EPILOGUE
Ossamyr took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The cabin was still dark, but she could feel the approach of dawn. Sunrise would bring the end of one voyage and the beginning of another.
Untwining her fingers from Reef’s hand, she lifted the Islander’s arm out of her way and crawled from their bed. The cabin floor was cold on her bare feet as she crossed the chilly room and crawled into her fur-lined robe.
Cracking the door, she slipped into the corridor. She paused before shutting the door, looking back into the room. A stripe of lanternlight cut across Reef’s enormous body as he slept in their bed. Once again, the two of them had made love through most of the night, storing as much light emmeria as they could before they had to part ways.
The Islander was like no other lover Ossamyr had known. His sheer size, his brute strength, had frightened her at first. She felt like a doll next to him, something that could be crushed in an instant. The first time they tried to make love, they couldn’t even finish the act. It hurt too much. But Ossamyr had learned to adapt on their long voyage to the Opal Empire. Now she adored the long, passionate nights she spent with him, filling her chest with light emmeria. He held her so fiercely, so tenderly, making love not for himself or even for her, but for the entire world.
She’d even told him she loved him one night. And he said the same to her. It was as simple as that, a pair of quiet truths, honestly given and honestly received.
Ossamyr had never told Brophy those words. Though she still felt them as fiercely as the ones she’d shared with Reef. As much as she cared for the Silver Islander, Ossamyr sometimes still wished it was Brophy in her bed. She couldn’t imagine Reef laughing while he was inside her or playfully pinching her butt while she tried to get dressed.
The two of them together would be the perfect lover, the man and the boy, honor and joy, the prince and the pirate.
She imagined all three of them in bed at the same time and smiled. That was a little dream that would certainly never come true.
With a soft heart, she closed the door and walked up on deck. The night was cold and drizzly, and she huddled into her cloak. She had never been this far north before. At first she hated the cold weather. It felt like an unwarranted personal attack, as if nature herself had become suddenly hostile. Now she didn’t mind it so much.
Heavy clouds hung low over the rocky coastline of Ohohhom, and a misty rain obscured the rocky peaks in the distance. The rain never stopped in this place, and everything grew tall and green. Moss covered every rock, the base of every tree. Towering evergreens covered every inch of ground from the mountaintops to the sea. It was green everywhere, greener than anything she had ever seen. For the first time in years she missed Physendria and looked forward to returning there someday, during happier times.
She walked to the rail and let the cold rain fall on her bare head. The rainbow magic swirled within her stomach, keeping her warm. The night before she and Reef left the Silver Islands, they traveled back into the mountains with his followers. The entire community showed up to lend their life force to the ritual that would make her one of their own. They danced, drummed, and sang through the night, imbuing a tiny crystal flake with a flood of light emmeria. When it was over, she knelt before Reef as he placed the swirling rainbow flake on the tip of her tongue.
Ossamyr’s magic was completely transformed. From the moment she swallowed that flake, she felt a searing pain whenever she used her Zelani in the wrong way. If she used her magic to gain power over someone rather than make power with someone, it filled her with agony. But she didn’t miss the old ways, and the Zelani she used to fuel her and Reef’s lovemaking was like nothing she had ever experienced before. He was no longer invisible to her magical sight. The crystal he carried in his own belly only hid him from those who meant him harm. Just as her own shard would give her some protection from the sorceress she had vowed to kill.
Ossamyr thought of the task ahead of her. Her old self would have felt the crushing burden of her mission. She would have slipped into anger or arrogance to armor herself against the dangers on the horizon.
But now she was at peace.
Ever since she drank the Siren’s Blood, ever since she’d seen the truth that left the world teetering on the brink, her heart had been light.
Somehow only the present moment mattered.
And this particular moment was a very, very good one.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FROM TODD:
An immeasurable thanks to my wife, Lara, for your unending well of belief, your constant nurturing, and for shouldering the load while I was sending so much energy elsewhere. I can’t thank you enough, but I look forward to trying for the rest of my life. Thanks to my daughter, Elowyn, for bringing me breakfast in the morning when I was too attached to the computer to eat. Thanks to Jessica and Kristin, for keeping me laughing, for “continental” wisdom, and for your dedication to bad puns and the making of tacos. And thanks to Joss Whedon, for creating the most unfairly truncated series, Firefly, which I must have watched about eighteen times while seeking inspiration for this book.
FROM GILES:
First and foremost, I need to thank my wife, Tanya, for her unwavering faith in my ability and her gratuitous suffering from my procrastination. Also a big thanks to my semi-neglected children, Liefke and Luna, for brightening my days and sort-of leaving me alone to write. And a special salute to Glenn Mullen for letting me camp at his desk for weeks on end.
FROM BOTH OF US:
Thanks to our advance readers Aaron Brown, Laren Crawford, Megan Foss, Liana Holmberg, Chris Mandeville, Kristin Maresca, Jessica Meltzer, and Morgan Thomas. Without your wit, insight, enthusiasm, encouragement, and occasional outright disgust, this book would have been much less fun to write (and read). Thanks again to Langdon Foss for his wonderful work on the drawings of Ohndarien and The Floating Palace. Thanks to the “Clan,” for being the largest group of best friends in the world. A big thanks to our agent, Donald Maass, for his continual support of these books, and for answering all of the little questions. And all hail Marie Lu, our shameless self-promoter and directrix of the über-spiffy flash movie on our website. No animals were harmed in the writing of this book.
