The House of the Four Winds: Book One of One Dozen Daughters

by Mercedes Lackey

  But instead: “I love you,” Dominick blurted out. “I thought— You were Clarence, you see, and I thought it was friendship—only friendship—and you would leave when we … if we ever got somewhere, and … the sea is a hard mistress if you do not love her. I could not ask…”

  “If you had, I would have said yes,” Clarice answered softly. “I might have said yes even if you did not ask, you know. I have loved you for a long time, I think.”

  “I’m glad,” Dominick answered simply. For a heartbeat, nothing else in the world mattered. Dominick loved her and knew that she loved him, and for that brief instant there was nothing but joy.

  But it could not last, for love was not as urgent as survival.

  “I would be gladder if we weren’t all about to die,” he added. “I wish I knew what Shamal is after.”

  “Hasn’t she already told us? This … mystic treasure of hers. Dominick, she’s said you’re the only one who can see where you must go to reach it safely. You … When the time comes, you must sink us.”

  “If I could, I would do so gladly. She has but to order me to reach our destination safely, and I will have no choice but to obey.”

  “Because you are bound by a spell only true love can break.”

  “Spirits and Powers,” Dominick said softly. “Is it as simple as that?”

  “If you love me as I love you, it is. Come. Lean close to me and I’ll take off that damned necklace. These blasted chains are so heavy, I’m afraid I’ll just knock you unconscious with them if I reach up to you.”

  “Let me help.” He leaned toward her and picked up the heavy length of chain between her manacles, lessening the weight dragging on her wrists. But instead of leaning down so she could reach the back of his neck, he closed the distance between them.

  Though not Clarice’s first kiss, it was the sweetest by far. And the most painful. It made her wish even more keenly that it were happening in ordinary time, when the two of them were free to be selfish and think of nothing but themselves.

  But when she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Gregale, looming over Dominick’s shoulder.

  Her first instinct was to recoil; her second was to snatch at the spell necklace around Dominick’s neck. When she tensed, Dominick drew back, glancing over his shoulder. He shook his head fractionally as he pulled away.

  He was right. She knew that, maddening as it was. Show Shamal this spell was broken, and she would only enchant Dominick again. All spells contained the way to end them—but what if the new one required something unobtainable, such as water from the Temese River?

  But, oh, it was so hard to let him go!

  “Rest well … Clarice,” Dominick said, getting to his feet. “I will come back as soon as I can.”

  “Spirits and Powers go with you, Dominick,” Clarice answered softly.

  Gregale retreated, and Dominick followed him. Clarice listened until the fading sound of their footsteps was lost in the sighing and creaking of the ship. At least she had light; Gregale had come to collect Dominick, but he’d left her the things Dominick had brought. She hefted the lantern to see how much oil it contained. As she did, its light caught a gleam of metal where no gleam had been before. Her arms aching with strain, she held the lantern as high as she could.

  It was a ring of keys.

  Dominick did not leave them. He would have freed me immediately. But … why would Gregale seek to free me? Gregale could certainly have dropped the ring of keys without her noticing at the time, but it beggared belief that he could have dropped them by accident.

  He meant her to get free.

  Why?

  She didn’t know. But she knew she could not afford to waste this chance.

  It took her most of an hour—as closely as she could judge—to get her hands on the keys, and her muscles were trembling and aching by the time she had her prize in her hands. Panting with triumph, she unlocked her shackles, her manacles, and the padlock that secured the length of chain around her waist to the hawser cable. She was free.

  I need somewhere to hide. Somewhere no one would find her. Dominick might no longer be compelled to do what Shamal ordered, but he must pretend he was or risk being bespelled again. And the crew knew that the penalty for disobeying Shamal’s orders was a gruesome death. She could trust no one. Shamal herself had said so:

  “Royal blood can lift it from its resting place.”

  Shamal had said nothing about keeping Clarice alive until they got wherever they were going. A jug full of her blood would probably be as much use as she was. More, once Shamal was tired of playing games.

  Clarice got cautiously to her feet and collected the blankets and the supplies Dominick had brought. She tucked them under her arm and turned the lantern down as low as she dared. After a moment’s debate, she returned the ring of keys to the place on the deck where she’d found them. They were useless to her, and Gregale might come back for them. And maybe he’ll put them back where he got them from. Or maybe he’ll tell Shamal I’ve escaped. I am so tired of not knowing what’s going on!

  The deck above was not full by any means, but the provisions had been stored near the ladders for easy access. They made a fine hiding place. She made herself a nest between the aft bulkhead and a pile of sacks (potatoes, turnips, and carrots). She wrapped herself in the blankets and forced herself to eat and drink a little. She doused the lantern and made sure it was where she could find it by touch if she had to.

  Then, at last, mercifully, she slept.

  * * *

  She was ruthlessly jarred awake by the motion of Asesino. Before she knew what was happening, she was sliding down a steep slope that had been level deck when she’d fallen asleep. She hit something with a thump, only to be tossed back the way she’d come in the next moment. This time she found a handhold—the ropes securing the pile of sacks—and clung to it desperately. Pitch, yaw, and roll, she thought dazedly as she clung to the ropes. She remembered a midnight conversation in happier times, with Dominick explaining the mechanics of a ship’s movement along its three axes: linear vertical, linear lateral, and linear longitudinal. He’d said then that if she was lucky, and the sea remained calm, she would experience no more than two of them at once, but right now, Asesino seemed to be wallowing from side to side even as it seesawed stem to stern and bounced up and down. In the absolute darkness, this was frightening.

  She did not know whether this storm had been raised by Shamal for her own purposes or was something she could not quell (terrifying as that possibility was). At the sound of new and louder crashing, she scrabbled one-handed for her spellmatch, praying it had remained in her pocket through all that had gone before. It did not give as much light as a lantern would, but her lantern, and everything else Dominick had brought her, was lost in the shifting mass of cargo. Holding the precious light source as high as she could, she saw crates slide across the deck—or tumble from their resting places at the top of their stacks. Clarice realized that she was in danger of being crushed if she stayed in the hold.

  With only the spellmatch’s faint light to guide her, she lurched and staggered along the deck, seeking some haven that would not expose her to discovery. At last she reached the ladder to the middle deck. The balusters would protect her. She doused her spellmatch and tucked it away and braced herself as best she could.

  For what seemed to be an eternity, she clung, dazed and weary, to the ship’s ladder. It took all her strength, and the effort left her battered and bruised. But at last Asesino seemed to reach some accommodation with the weather. The ship continued to groan and shudder, but the ship was no longer being tossed about like the toy of some fractious child.

  Once she was certain this condition was not just temporary, Clarice fumbled for her spellmatch again. At least it gave light enough to let her pick her way across the deck.

  I have to admit, if one is attempting to hide from a search, a ship is not a good place to attempt it. Especially when I have no idea if we may sink at any moment.


  But where should she go?

  The sound of approaching voices left her no time for debate. She hurried as quickly as she could to the farthest corner of the hold and doused her spellmatch, praying that those who approached would not stay long.

  “—quick look, Mr. Evans.” She recognized the voice. It was Geordie Lamb. The man with him must be Duff Evans, ship’s carpenter. “To see if we’re taking on water.”

  “And what would it matter if we were?” Evans answered harshly. “Blown to the bottom of the sea in a storm is at least a natural death. No, Geordie, you’re wasting your time, and so am I. I’m for my bunk. If you’re smart, so are you.”

  “But, Mr. Evans!” Geordie cried, his voice almost a wail. “Kayin said—!”

  “If Kayin Dako wants to know the state of the hull, he can come and look himself. Good night, Geordie.”

  Silence again.

  “What shall I do?” Geordie said, and Clarice could imagine him wringing his hands. “What if we are taking on water? We could be in Bowling Green before we thought to man the pumps.”

  I must trust someone, Clarice thought. And Geordie Lamb was the most harmless person aboard. She pushed herself out of hiding.

  Geordie caught the sight of movement in the shadows and raised his lantern high. “Who … Rats? If you’re a rat, get back to your hole. Not even rats can leave this ship now, I wager.”

  “It’s me, Geordie,” Clarice said in as loud a whisper as she dared. As she hoped, Geordie came toward her, and she was able to forestall his loud exclamation of delight at the sight of her.

  “But— How did you get out, Mr.—? Miss—? I swear, all these weeks, I didn’t have any clue you weren’t a mister instead of a ma’am, and I only hope you didn’t take offense at any of our horseplay. On account of being a female, and…” His words staggered to a stop, and he gazed at her in shy confusion.

  “Of course I did not,” she assured him warmly. “And I am just the same person as before, I promise you, and I hope you are still my friend. But what’s going on? I was able to work myself free—but then the storm hit.…”

  “It was a terrible thing, Mr.—Miss—”

  “You must call me Clarice. It is my name, you know.”

  “Miss Clarice.”

  As she’d hoped, he needed little prompting to tell her what had happened after she’d been imprisoned. Once Gregale had taken her below, Dominick had ordered prayers said for the dead. “He came down and said them with us. And said the crew might kill him if they wished, but Shamal would send the ship to the bottom if they did. Faced them all down, cool as anything. He said, on account of everything, there was no point in going on with the punishment and ordered Mr. Emerson to give the crew anything they wanted in the way of victuals. And Mr. Emerson, he did—and he unlocked the liquor stores and threw the key overboard, too!”

  “Good Lord,” Clarice said inadequately. She wondered for a moment what exactly Shamal had thought would happen once she’d all but told every soul on the ship that it was only a matter of time before she killed them. Terror could not motivate when hope was dead.

  “Then at dawn the storm blew up. It was terrible,” Geordie said. “The sky turned black, and Dominick ordered all hands on deck, and Kayin said it was our only chance to come through alive. But Ned Hatcliff said it didn’t matter and we were a ghost ship now. Dominick went up into the rigging his own self, and that shamed enough of ’em into slinking out of their holes before he had to cut the mainsail free. But we’re going where the sea sends us now, Miss Clarice, and who knows where that is? To hell, they’re saying. You—you don’t think that’s so, do you?”

  “No, I certainly do not. And I will tell you something else, Geordie. Shamal isn’t as smart as she thinks she is—and she isn’t as well loved as she’d like. We still have a chance. But we must be prepared to take it.”

  Geordie’s face lit with desperate hope. “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t think so. I know so,” she answered with all the conviction she could muster. “You must tell the crew. There is still hope for us to come through this alive. I swear it.”

  “Your word as a—as a princess?” Geordie asked, stumbling a bit over the words.

  “My word as a princess of Swansgaarde,” Clarice answered firmly. “And you must tell them so. Tell them I said so—you were supposed to check the ship for leaks, weren’t you? That means the orlop, too. Well, tell them you spoke to me. You needn’t say where.”

  “But you aren’t down there now,” Geordie said, sounding confused.

  “No. That is part of my plan. You must find me a place to hide.”

  She watched as he thought for a moment, hoping she’d made the right choice. But the crew must have hope. And with Dominick free of enchantment, they had a chance to survive.

  At last Geordie’s face cleared. “I know just the place! Come with me. I’ll take you there.”

  * * *

  The two of them ducked into the tiny cabin on the floor above, and Geordie closed and bolted the door. “It’s the purser’s office. Mr. Foster’s it was, and I don’t need it. So you can just stay here, and I can bring you things. Food and, and blankets, and—I can tell Dominick where you are.”

  “No!” Clarice said instantly. “Don’t tell anyone. Just … go on about your normal duties.”

  “Yes, Miss Clarice,” Geordie said dispiritedly. “Whatever normal duties are these days.”

  “I wish I knew. But tell the crew: Do not despair. There is hope.”

  She hoped the promise she’d made was one she could keep.

  11

  THE KINGDOM OF WINTER

  THE PURSER’S cabin was windowless, but Geordie had left her his lantern. He returned a few hours later with a bucket, a pitcher of water, and several pieces of hardtack. No hot food was to be had while the storm was raging.

  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen in these waters,” he said. “There doesn’t seem to be any end to it. If it doesn’t blow out soon…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Whatever it was that would happen, it would be something bad.

  “Have you seen Shamal?” Clarice asked.

  Geordie shuddered. “Standing in the bow. Just like she’s been since dawn.”

  After a long pause, Clarice asked, “And … Dominick?”

  “At the wheel. He sent Dickon below. I don’t know why he’s there, Miss Clarice. He can’t hold her. No one could.”

  He’s there because it’s all he can do. “He’ll do what he thinks is best for all of us,” Clarice said aloud. “Now go before you are missed.”

  * * *

  Hours passed. Time enough for day to turn to night again, for Clarice to exhaust herself with fretting. She could not even pace, for the ship still tossed. At last she curled up in the “bottom” corner of the cabin, her cheek upon her knees, and tried to rest.

  It was not sound that woke her, but stillness. She placed her hand upon the bulkhead. She no longer felt the constant vibration she’d felt during the storm.

  It was over.

  She got to her feet, suddenly realizing how cold she was. Her breath smoked on the cabin air. She tugged her blankets tighter and hugged herself against the chill. Was this some new sorcery of Shamal’s?

  Freezing all of us to death is a stupid idea, but I really don’t expect logic from her, Clarice thought bitterly. She crept to the door and listened. Silence. Her heart in her throat, she opened the door the barest crack.

  The corridor beyond was deserted. It was even colder outside than in the tiny purser’s cabin. Daylight shone weakly through the hatch gratings, but it was the wrong color. Even the dawn light should be golden in the Hispalidean Sea. Not … gray.

  Am I the only one left alive? It seemed frighteningly possible. She had to know. She opened the door wider, listening intently.

  Nothing.

  The crew quarters were deserted. Bottles littered the deck, and the air stank of spilled liquor a
nd beer. In the storm, someone who wished to die would not even need to nerve himself to jump overboard. All that would be needed was to release a handhold and let the sea …

  No! I will not believe that without proof!

  When Clarice reached the deck, she saw why no one was below. The remains of the ship’s company lined the railings, staring silently out at …

  Nothing.

  Not even the ghost of a shadow marked the position of the sun in the sky—if there was a sun at all. Ice crusted the rigging and frosted the deck. All that could be seen was a gray and formless mist.

  As quietly as possible, Clarice retreated to the deck below, and for the next three days she became a ghost aboard a haunted ship.

  From eavesdropping, Clarice knew Asesino carried full sail, even though she sailed through impenetrable mist. Clarice’s absence had been discovered, but the searches conducted for her were lackadaisical at best. The crew huddled around the chimney and the stove in the galley to drink and pray—and to read out the ever-lengthening list of the dead. They had run out of coal for the stove long before and now burned any wood they could scavenge.

  I must risk seeking out Dominick. I pray Shamal has not done something worse to him than what she has already done.

  When the Asesino stilled with what passed now for night, she crept up on deck. The superstructure of the ship groaned under a freight of ice. It shone with strange brightness in the wan light of the ship’s lamps, the whiteness of the frost and the ice limning the once-familiar structure of the ship and rendering it strange. The air was as cold and arid as if Clarice stood on the surface of one of the glaciers in the mountains that surrounded Swansgaarde, and she tried to imagine a storm so savage that it could blow them all the way to the Arktikos in only a few days.

  Neither moon nor stars were to be seen. Even the surface of the ocean was invisible. The absence of context reduced Asesino to a simulacrum of a real ship sailing against a painted backdrop onstage in some theater of the damned. Clarice looked up toward the afterdeck, but it was as deserted as the rest of the ship. Everyone was huddled around the galley chimney for warmth. Everyone but Dominick. And Shamal.