Yiloch nodded. He knew and respected their beliefs, but he wasn’t going without Ian. “Your displeasure is understood, Sen Markhai, but the creator reduces risk for all of us. Should we be hailed by an imperial vessel, he can disguise my men and our cargo.”
Markhai’s frown deepened. His eyes moved from Yiloch to Ian and back. He turned to Cadmar, speaking fast in his native tongue, perhaps assuming that Yiloch wouldn’t be able to follow the exchange. He pointed at Ian, making the source of his aggravation obvious, and the young creator dropped his gaze to his shifting feet. Fortunate for him that he didn’t understand Kudaness or his cheeks might burn twice as bright at the captain’s expressive tirade against ascard users in general and Ian in particular for their blasphemous use of the gods powers. He moved on to curse Cadmar for trying to bring misfortune to his vessel and threatened to unload the wine.
“We won’t be unloading the wine,” Yiloch interrupted, stepping close to the captain. “We can do this politely, and I’ll pay you an extra 1000 fven for your trouble, or I can order my soldiers to seize control of your ship and we can dump you overboard halfway across the Gilded Strait. I’m confident you’ll find the first option more agreeable.”
Markhai’s eyes flashed outrage and Yiloch thought he might test the threat. Then he gave a sharp nod. “The Blood Prince is bold and his reputation formidable. I take an extra 2000 fven and you guarantee the safety of my crew. Your creator has no contact with my men. None.” He emphasized the last with a sharp cutting motion.
“1500 fven,” Yiloch countered.
“Agreed.” Markhai offered a hand to seal the bargain.
Yiloch accepted it in a firm grip. With the dispute resolved, he left Cadmar to handle the captain from there and nodded down to Adran.
Adran dismounted and started barking orders to the retinue. Twenty-three soldiers hastened about their assigned duties. Two men arranged horse lines. They would lead the horses south to a smaller port where Yiloch’s party planned to dock upon their return. The rest moved supplies from pack animals onto the ship. Markhai’s first mate called out orders to them, directing them to where their supplies were to be stored.
Yiloch turned to Ian who swayed unsteady with the rocking of the ship. “Go below and rest. You can release the illusion when we’re clear of the port and you must avoid interacting with the crew.”
Ian nodded, listless, and wove a weary path to the steps.
Confident in the arrangements, Yiloch walked to the starboard railing where a strong breeze blew the stench of the docks inland. Adran joined him several minutes later.
“We’re loaded. Captain Markhai has one more shipment to bring aboard before we cast off.”
Yiloch nodded.
“Where’s Ian?”
“I sent him below. He’s been working ascard nonstop for days. He needs rest. Someone should stay with him. His ability makes him unwelcome here.”
Adran waved a soldier over and assigned him to guard the creator. Then he leaned on the railing and gazed out on the straight.
The cool breeze caressed Yiloch’s skin and he closed his eyes, imagining their destination. Indigo was there somewhere.
“Do you hope to see her?”
He opened his eyes, his gaze moving to Adran for a second before drifting back out over the open water. He didn’t want to talk about her. She needed to get out of his head.
Silence stretched between them. The lap of waves and the thud of booted feet on deck filled the gap.
“You were right,” Adran said eventually.
“I usually am.” Yiloch set aside disturbing thoughts in favor of a teasing smile.
Adran gave him a cross look. “Don’t be obnoxious.”
Yiloch chuckled. “Right about what?”
“Bringing Ian. It spared us considerable risk and he’s thrilled to have the opportunity, but I didn’t want him getting hurt. You can be careless with those who serve you.” There was an edge of personal hurt in the comment.
“I understand that you care about him, but he needs to test himself. It will give him much needed confidence to realize how useful he can be.”
Adran nodded and stared out over the water, brooding. Content to let him brood in silence, Yiloch stood watching the waves and wondered what Indigo was doing now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the deep dark, several hours before dawn, the Maricelle pulled into the Kilty docks. A number of ships moored there, diverse in size and purpose, rocking on gentle waves. A lone seabird called out, its childlike cry piercing the dark. Eerie stillness embraced a harbor full of ghost ships until one other vessel began unloading cargo. A sliver moon sank on the horizon, its light barely brightening the inky night sky.
Darkness helped hide them from unwanted attention, taking some burden off Ian. One of Yiloch’s men had gone ashore to speak with a guardsman in royal livery who’d been watching the docks. Now the king’s representative approached. The ascard around them changed when Ian allowed the two men approaching to see past their disguise.
Protocol dictated that they await the host’s welcome before setting foot upon their soil, so Yiloch took this opportunity to assess the young man bedecked in noble finery flanked by the royal guardsman. His elaborate embroidered jacket was cut square in Caithin style and his dark hair mussed, but in a manner that suggested a distinct awareness of his youthful good looks. A sword belt rested comfortable on his hip and, though a slight swagger hinted at arrogance, something in his relaxed bearing suggested the confidence might be justified.
Adran leaned close and whispered, “At least they sent someone easy on the eyes. I’d sleep with him.”
Yiloch flashed an amused smile. “Attractive or not, I don’t recommend making advances.”
“Too bad.” Adran shrugged and stepped back to flank him opposite Cadmar who stood cross-armed, scowling over his left shoulder.
His soldiers lined up in two neat rows behind them and Ian hovered behind Adran, drawing as little attention as possible. A heavy door slid open on the building behind the approaching men. Five coaches and two enclosed wagons rolled out, lining up in front of the building. A team of mounted royal guards moved into position around the column.
When the two men reached them, both bowed, though the young lord did so with more refinement and respect.
“Prince Yiloch, I am Lord Caplin Duvox. I welcome you on behalf King Jerrin.”
Caplin Duvox, the king’s nephew. Sending a member of the royal family was a show of high regard from the king and the young lord’s courteous manner earned him quick favor. Yiloch reciprocated with a respectful nod and introduced Adran as his ranking captain. Combined with his age and meek bearing, Ian’s lack of introduction would encourage the assumption that he was a mere attendant.
Caplin gave Adran a respectful nod, which he returned, and said, “My men will assist with transfer of your supplies.”
Yiloch turned to Cadmar. “Take four men below and ensure everything is ready to be moved.”
With a look that vacillated between alarm and awe, Caplin watched the big warrior disappear below deck. He dragged his attention back to Yiloch. “If you care to join me, your highness, I have wine waiting in my carriage. You could rest and refresh while your cargo is transferred.”
“Certainly, Lord Caplin. If you will allow me a moment to settle with Sen Markhai.”
Caplin looked puzzled, but he nodded graciously.
The ship’s captain was overseeing unloading of his other cargo. Under different circumstances, Yiloch would have Adran close the transaction, which was likely what confused the young lord, but Adran didn’t speak the language as fluently.
Getting the captain’s attention, he recounted their agreement in Kudaness and counted out the agreed upon sum.
Markhai accepted the payment. “Our agreement is satisfied.”
“It is. Iysweyr Silgand.” A customary parting, meaning ‘go with Silgand,’ the Kudaness water God.
“Silgand fvern tulahnd,
Shes Yiloch,” Markhai answered, completing the parting with Silgand’s blessing.
Yiloch returned to the others and set Adran to supervising unloading. At his nod, Caplin led the way down the gangplank. The first hints of dawn brought a soft glow to the dark sky and increased activity animated the sleepy docks.
“I brought my new carriage for us. I believe you’ll find the ride quite agreeable. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the opportunity to show it off.” Caplin gestured with a pleased flourish to the elegant carriage at the front of the line.
The deep red lacquer finish darkened to black at all edges with tasteful gold inlay accents that glittered in flickering lamplight. Two fine-boned blood bay geldings pulled the carriage, their elegance complimenting the expensive finish. It was the conveyance of a nobleman with refined tastes.
“Impressive, Lord Caplin,” Yiloch commented as they climbed in and sank into soft seats upholstered in dark red velvet. He positioned himself by one window so he might view Demin as they approached.
“Thank you, Prince Yiloch. I’m embarrassed to admit that I commissioned it with a mind to woo a lady.”
Yiloch chuckled, falling into the easy comfort of the other man’s affability. “By your tone, I gather it didn’t work as planned.”
“She was indifferent, although we are now engaged. It’s the decision to woo her that I’ve started to question.” His jaw tightened in thinly veiled frustration. “But you aren’t here to listen to my relationship woes. Would you care for wine?”
“Please.”
Caplin poured two glasses and handed him one. “I hope your journey wasn’t arduous?”
Despite the attempt at polite conversation, frustration persisted in the young lord’s eyes. His engagement troubled him. The opportunity to build his trust now would be worth the effort in the coming days so Yiloch disregarded the attempted change of subject.
“She’s changed or you have?”
Caplin’s regard was calculating, fully cognizant of the situation. If he let the conversation delve into personal matters, it would be a deliberate choice.
The carriage started to move.
Caplin gazed out the window. “Father advised me to find a woman who would dazzle my peers with her beauty and charm. She does those things. She can also gossip with the best courtiers.”
“But?”
“But we have little in common. My mother warned me to find a woman who shared my interests or I would grow bored of her beauty. I begin to wonder if she wasn’t right.”
“I suspect they were both right. If you were Lyran, I might suggest you find a mistress to fill the void, but I understand your culture disapproves of such things.”
Caplin chuckled. “So they say. Considering how many noblemen I know have mistresses, I’d say evidence supports your approach.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you have someone special? A future Lyran Empress?”
He appreciated Caplin’s willingness to acknowledge his ambitions. If only Indigo’s face wasn't the first to come to mind. “No, not yet. I’ve been far too busy to court a lady.”
“I imagine so. Planning a war can be so time-consuming.” His sudden candid smile was infectious. “I’m glad you’re here. I can move into my rooms at the palace for a while. That’ll be glorious after a few days at the Kilty docks.”
Yiloch smiled, willing to reciprocate the cordial manner for now. “Your efforts are appreciated. I’m sure King Jerrin knows it’s a great honor to be greeted by a member of the royal family.”
“He does nothing by accident. If he spent less time on celebrations and more on politics, he would be an incredibly powerful man, though he seems content with the rule he has.”
It disconcerted Yiloch that this man spoke to him more like an old friend than the disfavored heir of a race his people used as slaves. “You’re rather forthright considering you don’t know where my long term ambitions lie.”
Caplin sipped his wine and shrugged. “I’ve always been quick to trust, but it’s never played me wrong. In my experience, the differences that matter are rarely as simple as the color of a man’s skin.”
Caplin’s unguarded gaze confirmed the sincerity of his words. There was something in his manner that made Yiloch want to believe him. Still, he’d learned the danger of trusting too easily. He needed to remain wary of Caithin’s superior might in the current circumstances. King Jerrin didn’t need to ally with him, but this alliance could save Caithin the cost of a full-scale war with Lyra the way things were going. He had some bargaining advantage in that.
Yiloch traced the rim of his glass with one finger. “Kudaness prophets believe physical diversity in men is akin to the varied colors of horses. Simply ornamental. Rather than dividing men by race, they use a hierarchy of moral qualities to categorize people. Though the prophets themselves are the only ones who seem to practice that philosophy,” he added with a wry smile.
“You speak Kudaness fluently.”
“Lyra values its peaceful relationship with Kudan.” Yiloch avoided pointing out that Caithin’s prejudice toward the Kudaness reinforced that relationship. “Making the effort to learn their language demonstrates respect.”
“The man you called Cadmar, he’s Kudaness, isn’t he?”
“He has some Lyran in him.”
“That explains his eyes. He’s an intimidating figure and I don’t imagine I have to tell you how spectacularly you two contrast one another.”
Yiloch smirked and took a drink of the wine, a poor substitute for a good Lyran blend.
“King Jerrin will love it,” Caplin continued. “He has a penchant for drama. If you’re up for it after your travels, I might get you an audience with him this afternoon.”
“I find sitting still more exhausting than travel, Lord Caplin. I would be pleased to meet with King Jerrin this afternoon.”
“I tend to agree. I get into far less trouble when I’m traveling. Quarters have been prepared for you in the palace with attendants if you so desire. There are adjacent rooms ready, if you wish to keep some of your men at hand. There was concern of conflict with Caithin soldiers, so a section of barracks has been set up for the dedicated use of your soldiers.”
“I have no misconceptions of Lyran status among your people and I appreciate that such things have been considered.” Yiloch kept his tone pleasant despite the flash of loathing that burned through him. The slave trade negatively influenced Caithin attitudes toward his people. It would end, but he wasn’t here to end it now.
The escort slowed to a walk upon entering Demin. In the soft amber light of early morning, the Caithin people started their day. How strange to see so many bronze-skinned people in one place. Few Caithin traveled in Lyra, though it had been different once, before the slave trade.
Pale red and tan stone cobbles paved the inner streets, a striking divergence from the gray and blue that paved the streets of Yiroth. Buildings, painted in shades of tan and brown, sucked in the light of sunrise, generating a gold glow, and the air grew warm despite the early hour. In the distance, down one side street, the sun lit two gold spires rising high above the rooftops.
“What’s that building, with the spires?”
“The Caithin Healers Academy. One of the great prides of the city.”
Indigo. “I’ve heard great things about your healers.”
“They aren’t so extraordinary next to your assortment of creators and adepts, but their skills are always needed. My fiancé is a student there, which reminds me.” Caplin’s changed tone drew Yiloch’s attention back from the distant spires. “The king hoped you would attend the Wakening Festival feast and ball.”
“I had planned to do so, hence the wine casks.”
Caplin grinned. “Brave man. You’ll get a chance to meet the best and worst Caithin nobility has to offer. I don’t suppose you’re familiar with our dances?”
“Enough to manage.”
Caplin pointed out other spots of interest as they passed through
the city, including the marketplace and the ornate ironwork gates marking the entrance to the education district. The palace looked like more of a confused grand manor. Steep rooflines and sharp pinnacles intermixed haphazardly with the odd square tower. The number of peaks suggested a sizeable structure, but one that would still fit inside the massive palace in Yiroth.
The carriage pulled into a circular courtyard. A covered walkway lined with stone columns led to the main entrance. Two smaller pathways led out through manicured gardens around either side of the rambling structure.
Yiloch and Caplin stepped out of the carriage and waited while the rest of his retinue joined them. Countless decorative flowers burst with color amidst lush greenery, enriching the garden with rich perfumes. It created an enchanting presentation to welcome visitors, though his father would consider it frivolous. Perhaps he would have a similar garden added at the palace in Yiroth once it was his.
“Prince Yiloch, if it pleases you, I’ll show you where your men will be staying.”
Yiloch nodded and motioned for the retinue to follow. Caplin guided them along a side path through more remarkable gardens. Beyond the gardens, they came to a series of long, low buildings with a sparring circle and archery targets outside each. The first building stood quiet. Beyond that, numerous royal soldiers trained, several stopping to watch them.
Ignoring their audience, Caplin led them inside the first building. A row of cots lined both sides of the long main room, every bed area furnished with a chest for storage and a nightstand with candleholder. Several battered wooden dummies sagged along the rear wall to either side of a fireplace.
“Will this serve?”
Yiloch deferred to Adran with a glance. Adran investigated the bedding on the nearest cot. “Will they be allowed to use the practice facilities outside?”
“Yes,” Caplin answered. “We only ask that there be no competition with Caithin troops at this time, friendly or otherwise. They’ve been warned against provoking your men. Your soldiers will have two dedicated servants to see to their needs.”
Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1) Page 15
