And promptly passed out.
3
Kral’s men carried him off to his cabin, presumably to be healed, though no one bothered to inform me.
“You’re welcome,” I said in Common Tongue to their retreating backs. Not that they cared, but it made me feel better. Especially with the stings of a thousand cuts making themselves known, along with the crashing exhaustion that comes after any fight, win or lose. Nevertheless, I paused a moment longer, listening. With the sails furled, the ship creaked only with the movement of the waves, water slapping against the hull.
The Dasnarian who remained on the door raised one shoulder and let it fall, a classic Harlan gesture of resignation in the face of what fate would bring. Hlyti, he called it. “Quiet now,” the man commented.
Yeah, right. Maybe the birdies would get bored and fly away. Ha! Nevertheless, since I seemed to be in the habit of praying to Danu lately, I sent her a fervent wish to make that happen. Me and Danu, best of friends, chatting all the time.
I made my way to the cabin Zynda and I—and previously Dafne—shared, the door left invitingly open for me. I’d grown used to seeing Dafne at the lone desk with her stacks of books, an absorbed frown on her face as she studied some scroll or another, and now it irritated me to miss her. Instead Zynda sat there, the iridescent bird spread out, wings extended. If all went well, soon I’d have the room to myself except for both their ghosts. A screwed-up definition of things going well.
“Did everyone make it in?” Zynda asked, a concerned line between her brows.
“So far as I know.” I went to the washbasin, resisting the urge to sit. Once I did, I wouldn’t want to get up, and then I’d be stiffer than Danu’s tits in an ice storm. “Kral came in last, bitten nearly to death, and I don’t think he would have, even then, had any of his men been left standing. He said he wants to kill you, however, so you might watch your back.”
She grimaced at that but didn’t apologize. “I’ve never seen an animal like this.”
“How so?” I peered at the cursed thing, my first opportunity to study one at leisure. Wickedly curved beak, long, fiery-orange talons I’d come to know well. Shiny, bright green . . . feathers? But with sharp edges. No wonder my hands were a mess.
“It’s like part fish, part bird,” Zynda explained. “The motion of the flock, that’s the same that some schools of fish do. And there are warmwater fish that behave this way, converging on prey and consuming all flesh in a short time. It’s almost as if . . .”
She trailed off with a deeper frown.
“Might as well say it,” I prompted. “Won’t make it any more or less real.”
“Well.” She sighed, then eyed me. “If you made me guess, I’d say these were that kind of fish that changed and gained the ability to fly.”
“Because of the barrier shift?” Now that she said it, the gleaming green did look more like scales than feathers.
Zynda shrugged, a liquid roll totally unlike the fatalistic Dasnarian gesture. “Maybe? Probably. If the barrier extending and bringing magic to the world outside Annfwn could awaken the river monster and the dragon in the volcano at Nahanau, why not these fish-birds?”
“Not to mention the other stories we’ve been hearing.” Stories my scouts used to bring me, before I got exiled due to stupid sex decisions. Another thing I missed, hearing from my network of people. They’d made me feel connected to the world. In control, in that I could at least see and hear beyond my small circle of physical ability. “I don’t like this. Animals shouldn’t be able to change from one thing to another—it goes against all rational sense.” I winced, throwing Zynda an apologetic smile. “Not you. That is . . .” Me and my big mouth.
She laughed. “Well, a piece of good news is that these fish-birds don’t seem to be anything more sinister than magically affected animals following their natural instincts.”
“I’m sure that will mollify Kral,” I replied drily.
She remained serene. Could be a trait they’d all inherited from Salena—none of her get seemed easily shaken. I could pretty much count on one hand the occasions I’d seen Ursula rattled, and I’d served with her for more than five years.
“It’s possible that once they can no longer see or hear us, they’ll move on.”
“They can probably smell us.”
She shook her head slightly. “Bird forms are usually heavily visual, with auditory second, depending on the species, and fish forms need the water for olfaction. I think we should give it a little time and then check. I could shift into—”
“No.” I paused in cleaning a dagger and pointed it at her for emphasis. “No more shifting. You have to conserve energy, you said.”
“That was before—”
“Zynda,” I interrupted her again. “You’re the one who said you’re not sure how far it is to Annfwn from here, as it’s never been mapped, or that it’s anything but open water in between. If you exhaust yourself—or if you get attacked by something like these creatures—you could die on the journey.”
“An unlikely scenario.”
“But possible. We’ve already made sacrifices to ensure the success of this mission. Getting to the barrier safely and making sure you have the best chance of taking information back to Queen Andromeda and Her Majesty trump the rest. If we can’t get through the barrier, there won’t be any of me going to Dasnaria and sussing out what Kir and the Temple of Deyrr are up to.”
“Unless you get eaten alive by fish-birds and never make it to Dasnaria,” she pointed out.
“I have no doubt Emperor Hestar would send another ship after his beloved brother, difficult as it may be to believe anyone would miss the cantankerous bastard. There would be other opportunities to send an ambassador from Her Majesty. Besides, the fish-birds have to go find other food sometime, right?”
“I could take a quick look—it would tell us much.”
“You don’t know these creatures—you said as much. What if they’re like the mountain cats of the Noredna forests, who’ll lie in wait for days for prey they’ve run to ground, ready to pounce the moment the hapless thing pokes its head out?”
She gave me a surprised look. “Speaking from experience?”
“Bitter ones, yes. I grew up in that region. Hunters had to be very careful not to become the hunted. I’ll go report your findings to Kral and see if they’ve managed to sew him together.”
“Speaking of which, want me to bandage your hands?”
I’d gotten most of the blood off—the washing a torture on those myriad bites—and changed into clean leathers as we talked. They were a well-worn, comfortable set, which only reminded me of the pending trial of wearing traditional Dasnarian female garb, whatever it turned out to be.
Being devoured by fish-birds might be the better prospect.
“Thanks, but I’ll let the cuts bleed a bit, in case there’s any nasties.” I took a scrap of cloth with me, to blot with, however. Probably not polite or womanly to drip blood on Kral’s floor.
“Jepp?” Zynda said, just before I walked out the door. She looked unhappy but resigned. “If it comes to that, I can kill the fish-birds with magic. It might mean killing everything outside the ship for a certain distance in every direction, but I can.”
I nodded at her. “I’ll tell Kral.”
They had Kral propped up on a bed ridiculously large for the smallish cabin—especially as that appeared to be the only furniture in it—tucked up under a ring of thick glass panes that looked up at the sky, taking advantage of sloping space there. A row of fish-birds perched along the edge of them, staring in and occasionally stabbing at the glass with their sharp beaks. So much for hoping they’d gone away already. Kral returned their baleful looks in kind. Wasn’t there a joke about birds of the same feather? Same scales? Sharks and fish-birds, kissing cousins.
Kral transferred his scowl from them to me, taking in my smirk with a decided lack of change in expression. Me and the carnivorous fish-birds, both banes of Kral’s e
xistence. The thought perked me up considerably. And helped distract me from his blazing nudity.
The man who worked on him glanced up at Kral’s turn of attention, then stood to block me. “The general is indisposed; you should not—”
“Stand down, Trond,” Kral stopped him, sounding weary. “She is my rekjabrel, so it will not matter.”
Trond regarded me with such intense curiosity that I wondered if he’d never met any other of Kral’s lovers.
I kept my eyes studiously on Kral’s face. Even beat up, he looked good enough to eat in great, big, greedy bites. My great weakness, this passion for him.
We seldom marry our great passions. My mother had said that. More than once. Enough times, in fact, that I’d always suspected my father had been one of those great passions—and a man not suitable to be any kind of a life partner for her. Apparently the fawn didn’t stray far from the doe on that one, an irony that might amuse me under other circumstances. Ah, well, so it went.
“Going to survive to fight another day?” I asked.
“So I’m reliably informed,” he replied in the same dour tone. “How is it you barely have a scratch on you?”
I gave him my sauciest grin. “I’m really good.”
He opened his mouth to fling back a reply, slid a glance to Trond, and shut it again. Discretion from General Killjoy—who knew it was possible?
“I also got under shelter a lot earlier than you did,” I conceded. “You were out there much too long.” Hmm. I sounded like I cared.
Kral caught it, too, eyes glinting. “And yet you didn’t come save me.”
“I’m only a weak female,” I countered. “I cowered indoors, as is appropriate. If it makes you feel better, my hands are rawer than a skinned deer.” I held them up in demonstration.
He made a snorting sound that might have been a smothered laugh. “I had to make sure all my men made it in once the sails were properly furled. A matter of the honor you so deride.”
I let that one go, uncomfortably aware that I respected the hell out of him for doing that. “Why did you take in the sails? I thought you were more worried about us sitting here stuck while they swarmed us.” I gestured needlessly at the avidly watching fish-birds.
Kral flashed me a disgusted look. No, it might have been a frown for the needle going into his forearm, the sinew pulling together a particularly deep slice.
“Bit some flesh away,” Trond grunted. “Gonna scar.”
“Ah, well. Women like scars.” Kral grinned at me, a challenge in it. “Recall, Ambassador, that there lurks a barrier wall out there. That easterly wind had us nicely on course to reach it within half a day. If we’d hit it at full sail . . .” He lifted one shoulder, let it fall.
Ah. Good point.
“So, Zynda thinks the birds are actually fish-birds, magically mutated with the barrier shift, and that they’ll go away if they can’t see prey anymore.” A few more of them arrived on the glass above Kral’s head. “She’s betting they’re visually oriented, with hearing probably second. She thinks they can’t smell us all that well.”
“And is she some sort of fish-bird expert?” Kral asked, decidedly mocking.
“She’s a person who has been both a fish and a bird,” I pointed out in my sweetest, most reasonable tone. “Seems like that kind of experience wins over any other expertise. Oh, wait, unless you have fish-bird scholars among your men?”
Kral glowered and Trond cast me a sideways glance of either warning or astonishment. Not like I could get in worse with the man, but . . . yeah, maybe a little less mouth. I made the worst ambassador in the history of the world.
“Anyway, if she’s right, it could be a good idea to cover your windows, tell everyone to be quiet. Then wait it out.” There, that sounded reasonably diplomatic. To be honest, Dasnarian tended to be pretty didactic, with words suited more to giving orders than to making suggestions. At least the ones I knew.
Kral heaved out a long breath, then told one of the men on the door to bring the storm shutters and pass the word to cover all portholes similarly. Should have known they’d have some system for that. The men retrieved the things in short order, sturdy wooden pieces that fit into grooves and locked into place with ingenious fittings. Dasnarians could be counted on for clever solutions, if nothing else. Once they finished, Kral bade them all to leave him and spread the word to keep quiet, which all but Trond hastened to do. Given their general’s tone, I didn’t blame them a bit. In fact, I made to do likewise, but Kral stopped me.
“Stay. Trond is nearly done with me; then he can see to your hands.” Now he sounded like he cared, Danu take him.
“They’re not that bad. Most of the slices are shallow and already closing up.”
Trond snorted. “I can see from here at least three need stitches. Stay as you were ordered.”
Stitches. Ugh. The needle piercing Kral’s flesh made me vaguely ill to watch. “Um, well . . . I should, ah . . .”
“Afraid?” Kral taunted. “And here I thought nothing scared my little hystrix.”
“Those fucking fish-birds scared me, and look—here I am considerably less injured than General I’m Afraid of Nothing. Fear can be healthy.”
Predictably, he scowled at that but had no immediate retort. I awarded myself the win for that skirmish.
“Done,” Trond pronounced, then—Danu bless him—covered Kral with a blanket. An opulent one, embroidered in metallic threads with intricate designs on the burgundy silk that matched pillows mounded behind him, all similar shades to the Hákyrling’s sails. Kral’s signature color. “Being quiet until those creatures disperse will do you good, General. If you don’t reopen the wounds, they ought to heal clean quite quickly. All right, Ambassador Rekjabrel, let’s see those hands.”
“Don’t you have an office or somewhere we can go?”
“I am a moving medic. Dasnarians have no leisure to sit in offices and be tended to.”
Thickheaded, the entire race. Trond examined my extended hands, glanced at my face, and nodded at the bed. “Sit. You’re already green and I don’t need a woman fainting on me.”
How about projectile vomiting? No, I’d keep it down. I’d already choked on my own pride enough for one day. No need to add actual bile to the mix. I plopped my butt on the end of Kral’s bed and glared at his amused expression. Mainly because it saved me having to see that cursed needle. “Would it kill you to have a couple chairs in here?”
He lifted his shoulder, let it fall, and winced. I was petty enough to take bit of gleeful pleasure in that. “I’m not in my cabin except to sleep.” He added a leer. “Or for sex. Why would I need chairs?”
“Clearly your sexual experience is sadly limited if you don’t know what can be done with a chair or two,” I retorted. “Ouch! Danu’s tits—that hurts worse than the original bite did.”
“Because you’re flirting, not fighting,” Trond returned mildly. “You’d do better to argue with your cvan—it would distract you better.”
Kral’s amused leer broadened, so much so that I bit down on the retort that leapt to tongue that flirting with Lunkhead was the last thing on my mind. Any protest would only intensify their teasing.
“Nothing to say?” Kral asked softly, an edge of danger in it.
“I’m concentrating on not hurling on your nice, clean bed.” I expected him to taunt me for it, but no.
Instead he grimaced in what appeared to be sympathy. “Why is it that I can carve up a man in battle, take a thousand hits, but the medic’s needle makes me want to crawl under the bed?” he asked the ceiling, then gestured at the closed shutters. “And this. I hate being closed in. I’d rather face those razor-beaked bird-fish and get sliced up to bleeding to death again than lie still behind closed walls and wonder.”
“Keep your voice down,” I advised, “and they might be more likely to leave.”
Kral fixed me with his intense gaze, more heat in it than should have been possible. It hadn’t been only the mjed talking. I’d
flirted, sure—I always did. Flirting was to sex what training was to martial expertise, a woman had to keep limber, make sure her head and body stayed in shape for the game. Didn’t pay to get rusty or flabby in either arena. But something about the way the man looked at me, then and now, like he’d never seen a woman before . . . Yeah, he really got to me.
“Do you have suggestions for muzzling me?” His voice went rough on the words, reminding me of the way it had sounded that night, all the things he’d said, most of which I hadn’t understood and had written off as unnecessary to parse when his body told me everything I needed to know. Part of me wanted to hear them again, now that I had a stronger grasp on the language. Fortunately, a bigger part of me knew better this time. Could I be growing wiser? That would be helpful.
“Not if it involves being invited to share your bed again. I’ve been enlightened on what that means.”
Trond was holding his breath, doing his best imitation of a fly on the wall. A fly with a big painful needle poking in and out of my palm, one I’d love to swat, particularly if he took any of this gossip back to his fellows. Who was I kidding? Of course he would. I’d never met a warrior who didn’t love to speculate about his or her fellows and their liaisons. Fighting and fucking—pretty much all some of them knew, or cared about. When Harlan courted Ursula, every one of the Hawks knew it before she did. Though none of us would have been disloyal—or foolhardy—enough to do more than hint about it to her. It had taken her long enough to indulge in what he offered her. But then, she was royalty and had more considerations than a night’s pleasure. Arguably, I should have considered more before accepting Kral’s offer. Dafne sure thought so. This being-wiser thing came with an awful lot of second-guessing and dithering.
“And what”—Kral breathed it like a dare—“do you believe an invitation like that entails?”
“Okay, done!” Trond declared, tying the last bandaging cloth into place, obviously relieved to escape. “Unless there’s any other wounds on you, Ambassador?”
The Edge of the Blade Page 4
