Staul laughed.
“I assure you this is no joke, seaman. I also assure you that I will not hesitate to see you cut down where you stand, and anyone else who fails to obey me.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” Staul asked. “This is not the Emerald Storm. You command no one here.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Hadrian flashed his familiar smile at Staul.
“Neither would I,” Royce added.
“Me neither,” Derning joined in, his words quickly echoed by Grady.
Wyatt got to his feet slowly. He glared at Thranic but said, “Aye, Mr. Wesley is captain now.”
Poe, Banner, and Greig acknowledged with a communal “Aye.”
What followed was a tense silence. Staul and Bernie looked at Thranic, who never took his gaze off Royce. “Very well, Captain,” the sentinel said at length. “What are your orders?”
“I hereby promote Mr. Deminthal to acting lieutenant. Everyone will follow his instructions to the letter. Mr. Deminthal, you will confine your orders to saving this vessel from the Dacca and maintaining order and discipline. There are to be no executions and no disciplinary actions of any kind without my authorization. Is that clear?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Petty Officer Blackwater, you are hereby appointed master-at-arms. Collect the weapons, but keep them at the ready. See to it Mr. Deminthal’s and my orders are carried out. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Mr. Grady, you are now boatswain. Dr. Levy, please take Mr. Bulard below so that he can be properly cared for. Let me know if there is anything you need. Mr. Derning will be top captain. Seamen Defoe and Melborn, report to him for duties. Mr. Deminthal, carry on.”
“Your sword.” Hadrian addressed Staul. The Tenkin hesitated but, after a nod from Thranic, handed the blade over. As he did, he laughed and cursed in the Tenkin language.
“You’d have found that a bit harder than you think,” Hadrian replied to Staul, and he was rewarded with the Tenkin’s shocked expression.
Wyatt had everything nonessential and not attached to the ship thrown overboard. Then he ordered silence and whispered the order to change tack. The boom swung over, catching the wind and angling the little ship out to sea. Well behind them, the last light of the Emerald Storm disappeared, swallowed by the waves. Not quite so far away, they could see lanterns bobbing on the following ships. From the shouts, it was clear they were displeased at losing their prize. All eyes faced astern, watching the progression of lanterns as the Dacca continued following their previous tack. After a while, two ships altered course but guessed incorrectly and turned westward. Eventually all the lanterns disappeared.
“Are they gone?” Hadrian heard Wesley whisper to Wyatt.
He shook his head. “They just put out the lanterns, but with luck they will think we’re running for ground. The nearest friendly port is Wesbaden back west.”
“For a helmsman, you’re an excellent commander,” the young man observed.
“I was a captain once,” Wyatt admitted. “I lost my ship.”
“Really? In whose service, the empire or a royal fleet?”
“No service. It was my ship.”
Wesley looked astonished. “You were … a pirate?”
“Opportunist, sir. Opportunist.”
Hadrian awoke to a misty dawn. A steady breeze pushed the tartane through undulating waves. All around them lay a vast and empty sea.
“They are gone,” Wesley said, answering the unasked question. “We have lost them.”
“Any idea where we are?”
“About three days’ sail from Dagastan,” Wyatt answered.
“Dagastan?” Grady muttered, looking up. “We’re not headed there, are we?”
“That was my intention,” Wyatt replied.
“But Wesbaden is closer.”
“Unfortunately, I confess no knowledge of these coasts,” Wesley said. “Do you know them well, Mr. Deminthal?”
“Intimately.”
“Good. Then tell us, is Mr. Grady correct?”
Wyatt nodded. “Wesbaden is closer, but the Dacca know this and will be waiting in that direction. However, since it’s impossible for them to be ahead of us, our present course is the safest.”
“Despite our earlier differences, I agree with Mr. Deminthal,” Thranic offered. “As it turns out, Dagastan was the Storm’s original destination, so we must continue toward it.”
“But Dagastan is much farther away from Avryn,” Wesley said. “The Storm’s mission was lost with her sinking. I have no way of knowing her original destination, and even if I did, I have no cargo to deliver. Going farther east only increases our difficulties. I need to be mindful of provisions.”
“But you do have cargo,” Thranic announced. “The Storm’s orders were to deliver myself, Mr. Bulard, Dr. Levy, Bernie, and Staul to Dagastan. The main cargo is gone, but as an officer of the realm, it’s your duty to fulfill what portion you can of Captain Seward’s mission.”
“With all due respect, Your Excellency, I have no way to verify what you say.”
“Actually, you do.” Wyatt pulled a bent and battered scroll from his bag. “These are Captain Seward’s orders.”
Wesley took the damp scroll and asked, “But how did you come by this?”
“I knew we’d need charts to sail by. Before I left the Storm, I entered the captain’s cabin, and being in a bit of a hurry, I just grabbed everything on his desk. Last night I discovered I had more than just charts.”
Wesley nodded, accepting this and, Hadrian thought, perhaps choosing not to inquire further. He paused a second before reading it. Most men were awake now and, having heard the conversation, watched Wesley with anticipation. When he finished, he looked over at Wyatt.
“Was there a letter?”
“Aye, sir,” he said while handing over a sealed bit of parchment.
Wesley slipped it carefully into his coat without opening it. “We will maintain course to Dagastan. Being bound by imperial naval laws, I must do everything in my power to see the Storm’s errand is fulfilled.”
CHAPTER 13
THE WITCH OF MELENGAR
Modina stared out her window as usual, watching the world with no real interest. It was late and she feared sleep. It always brought the dreams, the nightmares of the past, of her father, and of the dark place. She sat up most nights, studying the shadows and the clouds as they passed over the stars. A line of moonlight crossed the courtyard below. She noted how it climbed the statues and the far gate wall, just like the creeping ivy. Once green, the plant was now a dreary red. It would go dormant, appearing to die, but would still hang on to the wall. It would continue its desperate grip on the stone even as it withered. For it, at least, there would be a spring.
The hammering at her chamber door roused her. She turned, puzzled. No one ever knocked except for Gerald, who always used a light tap. Amilia came and went frequently but never knocked. Whoever it was, they beat the door with a fury.
The pounding landed harder and with such violence that the door latch bounced with a distinct metallic clank as it threatened to break. It never occurred to her to ask who was there. It never crossed her mind to be fearful. She slid back the bolt, letting the door swing inward.
Standing outside was a man she vaguely recognized. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and the collar to his shirt lay open.
“There you are,” he exclaimed. “At long last I am rewarded with your presence. Permit me to introduce myself again, in case you’ve forgotten me. I am Archibald Ballentyne, twelfth Earl of Chadwick.” He bowed low, taking an awkward step when he lost his balance. “May I come in?”
The empress said nothing, and the earl took this as an invitation, pushing his way into the chamber. He held a finger to his lips. “Shh, we need to be quiet, lest someone discover I’m here.” The earl stood wavering, his glazed eyes canvassing the full length of Modina’s small body. His mouth hung partially open and his head moved up and do
wn, as if trying to save his eyes the effort.
Modina was dressed only in her thin nightgown but did not think to cover herself.
“You’re beautiful. I thought so from the first. I wanted to tell you before this, but they wouldn’t let me see you.” The earl pulled a bottle of liquor from his breast pocket and took a swallow. “After all, I’m the hero of your army, and it isn’t fair that Ethelred gets to have you. You should be mine. I earned you!” the earl shouted, raising his fist.
Pausing, he looked toward the open door. After a moment, he continued, “What has Ethelred ever done? It was my army that saved Aquesta and would have crushed Melengar if they had let me. But they didn’t want me to. Do you know why? They knew if I took Melengar, then I would be too great to hold back. They’re jealous of me, you know. And now Ethelred is planning to take you, but you’re mine. Mine, I say!” He shouted this last bit, then cringed. Once more he placed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Modina watched the earl with mild curiosity.
“How can you want him?” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Am I not handsome? Am I not young?” He twirled around with his arms outstretched until he staggered. He steadied himself on the bedpost. “Ethelred is old, fat, and has pimples. Do you really want that? He doesn’t care about you. He’s only after the crown.”
The earl took a moment to glance around the empty room. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said in a harsh whisper. He leaned in so close he had to put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “I want the crown, too—anyone saying different is a liar. Who wouldn’t want to be emperor of the world, but”—he held up a wavering finger—“I would have loved you.”
He paused, breathing hotly into her face. He licked his lips and caressed her skin through the thin nightgown. His hand left her shoulder and inched up her neck, his open fingers slipping into her hair. “Ethelred will never look at you like this.” Archibald took her hand and placed it against his chest. “His heart will never pound like mine just by being near you. I want power. I want the throne, but I also want you.” He looked into her eyes. “I love you, Modina. I love you and I want you for my own. You should be my wife.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth, pressing hard, pinching her lips to her teeth. She did not struggle—she did not care. He pulled back and searched her face. She did not respond except to blink.
“Modina?” Amilia called, entering the room. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Ballentyne said sadly. He looked at Modina. He searched her face again. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
He turned and left the room.
“Are you all right?” Amilia rushed to the empress, brushing her hair back and looking her over. “Did he hurt you?”
“Am I to marry Regent Ethelred?”
Amilia held her breath and bit her lip.
“I see. When were you going to tell me? On my wedding night?”
“I—I just learned about it recently. You had that incident in the kitchen and I didn’t want to upset you.”
“It doesn’t upset me, Amilia, and thank you for stopping by.”
“But I—” Amilia hesitated.
“Is there something else?”
“Ah—no, I just—You’re different suddenly. We should talk about this.”
“What is there to talk about? I’ll marry Ethelred so he can be emperor.”
“You’ll still be empress.”
“Yes, yes, there’s no need to worry. I’m fine.”
“You’re never fine.”
“No? It must be the good news that I’m to become a bride.”
Amilia looked terrified. “Modina, what’s going on? What’s happening in that head of yours?”
Modina smiled. “It’s okay, Amilia. Everything will be fine.”
“Stop using that word! You’re really frightening me,” Amilia said, reaching toward her.
Modina pulled away, moving to the window.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself. I’m sorry there was no guard at the door. I’m sorry you had to hear such a thing from the brandy-soaked breath of—”
“It’s not your fault, Amilia. It’s important to me that you know that. You’re all that matters to me. It’s amazing how worthless a life feels without someone to care for. My father understood that. At the time, I didn’t, but now I do.”
“Understand what?” Amilia asked, shaking.
“That living has no value—it’s what you do with life that gives it worth.”
“And what are you planning to do with your life, Modina?”
Modina tried to force another smile. She took Amilia’s head in her hands and kissed her gently. “It’s late. Goodbye, Amilia.”
Amilia’s eyes went wide with fear. She began shaking her head faster and faster. “No, no, no! I’ll stay here. I don’t want you left alone tonight.”
“As you wish.”
Amilia looked pleased for a moment, then fear crept back in. “Tomorrow I’ll assign a guard to watch you.”
“Of course you will,” Modina replied.
True to her word, Amilia remained in Modina’s chamber all night, but slipped out before dawn while the empress still slept. She went to the office of the master-at-arms and burst in on the soldier on duty, unannounced.
“Why wasn’t there a guard outside the empress’s door last night? Where was Gerald?”
“We couldn’t spare him, milady. The imperial guard is stretched thin. We’re searching for the witch, the Princess of Melengar. Regent Saldur has commanded me to use every man I have to find her.”
“I don’t care. I want Gerald back watching her door. Do you understand?”
“But, milady—”
“Last night the Earl of Chadwick forced his way into the empress’s room. In her room! And has it occurred to you—to anyone—that the witch might be coming to kill the empress?”
A long pause.
“I didn’t think so. Now, get Gerald back on his post at once.”
Leaving the master-at-arms, Amilia roused Modina’s chambermaid from her bunk in the dormitory. After the girl had dressed, she hurried her along to Modina’s room.
“Anna, I want you to stay with the empress and watch her.”
“Watch her, what for? I mean, what should I be watching for, milady?”
“Just make certain the empress doesn’t hurt herself.”
“How do you mean?”
“Just keep an eye on her. If she does anything odd or unusual, send for me at once.”
Modina heard Anna enter the room quietly. She continued pretending to sleep. Near dawn she stretched, yawned, and walked over to the washbasin to splash water on her face. Anna was quick to hand her a towel and grinned broadly to have been of assistance.
“Anna, is it?” Modina asked.
The girl’s face flushed, and her eyes lit up with joy. She nodded repeatedly.
“Anna, I’m starved. Would you please run to the kitchen and see if they can prepare me an early breakfast? Be a dear and bring it up when it’s ready.”
“I—I—”
Modina put on a pout and turned her eyes downward. “I am sorry. I apologize for asking so much of you.”
“Oh no, Your Gloriousness, I’ll get it at once.”
“Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Your Worship.”
Modina wondered if she kept her longer how many elaborate forms of address she might come up with. As soon as Anna left the room, Modina walked to the door, closed it, and slid the dead bolt. She walked toward the tall mirror that hung on the wall, picking up the pitcher from the water basin as she passed. Without hesitation, she struck the mirror, shattering both. She picked up a long shard of glass and went to her window.
“Your Eminence?” Gerald called from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”
Outside, the sun was just coming up. The autumn morning light angled in sharp, slanted shafts across the courtyard below. She loved the sun and though
t its light and warmth would be the only thing besides Amilia that she would miss.
She wrapped her gown around the end of the long jagged piece of glass. It felt cold. Everything felt cold to her. She looked down at the courtyard and breathed in a long breath of air scented with the dying autumn leaves.
The guard continued to bang on the door. “Your Eminence?” he repeated. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Gerald,” she said, “I’m fine.”
Arista entered the palace courtyard, walking past the gate guards, hoping they could not hear the pounding of her heart.
This must be how Royce and Hadrian feel all the time. I’m surprised they don’t drink more.
She shook from both fear and the early-morning chill. Esrahaddon’s robe had been lost the night of Hilfred’s rescue, leaving her with only Lynnette’s kirtle.
Hilfred. He’ll be furious if he reads the note.
It hurt her heart just to think of him. He had stood in her shadow for years, serving her whims, taking her abuse, trapped in a prison of feelings he could never reveal. Twice he had nearly died for her. He was a good man—a great man. She wanted to make him happy. He deserved to be happy. She wanted to give him what he never thought possible, to fix what she had broken.
For three nights they had hid together, and every day Hil-fred had tried to convince her to return to Melengar. At last she had agreed, telling him they would leave the next day. Arista had slipped out when Hilfred went to get supplies. If all went well, she would be back before he returned and they could leave as planned. If not—if something happened—the note would explain.
It had occurred to her, only the night before, that she had never cast the location spell in the courtyard. From there, the smoke would certainly locate the wing, and if lucky enough, she might even pinpoint Gaunt’s window. The information would be invaluable to Royce and Hadrian and could mean the difference between a rescue and a suicide mission. And as much as she did not want to admit it, she owed Esrahaddon as well. If doing this small thing could save Degan Gaunt, a good man wrongly imprisoned; ease the wizard’s passing; and vanquish her guilt, it would be worth the risk.
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