Stormcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Bayar frowned, looking down at their joined hands. Then said, “Prince Adrian has told us that he met you in Ardenscourt this winter. Why did you go there?”

  Evan glanced at the healer, who sat in shadow, fingers laced, his chin resting on his hands. He offered no clues.

  “I went there to prevent the empress Celestine from making a deal with the king of Arden.”

  “How did you know that such a deal was on the table?”

  Evan hesitated. “I had a source in Ardenscourt who sent word to me.”

  “So this plan was common knowledge in the Ardenine capital?” Barrett raised an eyebrow. “None of my eyes and ears reported that.”

  “It was not well known,” Evan said. “My source is close to the king, and was involved in the negotiations.” He was watching the healer when he said that. Sul’Han straightened, as if he’d finally heard something he didn’t already know. He waited for Bayar to ask who his source was, and the High Wizard didn’t disappoint.

  “Who was this source who was close to the king?”

  Evan had no intention of giving Destin away. “I would rather not say. It would put this person in grave danger.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bayar said. “What is said here stays here. You can speak freely.”

  Evan could continue to object, but that would be the same as saying “I don’t trust you,” and that wouldn’t advance his diplomatic agenda. So he found himself lying, and then waiting to be struck dead. Or at least called on it. “It was Queen Marina,” he said. “We met once, when I boarded her ship in the Southern Islands. I must have made a good impression.”

  They all looked at each other, faces full of doubt.

  “Well,” the queen said, glancing at the healer. “I suppose it’s possible. She is a Tomlin, after all.”

  Bayar still looked puzzled. With a faint shake of his head, he tightened his grip so that the pressure was almost painful. “Why didn’t you want this deal to go forward?”

  “I did not want the empress’s influence to spread farther than it already has,” Evan said. “Trust me—you don’t want Celestine for a neighbor.”

  Bayar abruptly let go of Evan’s hands. “Something’s wrong,” he said flatly.

  Barrett leaned forward. “With—? Do you mean that he’s not telling the truth?”

  “I have no idea if he’s telling the truth,” Bayar said. “I don’t think it’s working.” He turned back to Evan. “Are you blocking me? Because if you are—”

  “I’m not blocking you,” Evan said. “How could I? You took my amulet. Besides, as I already said, I wouldn’t know how.”

  “It’s in your best interest to cooperate,” the queen said to Evan.

  “I am not trying to interfere with the High Wizard’s magic. The truth serves me as well as you.”

  The High Wizard rubbed the back of his neck, his expression making it clear that he didn’t believe him.

  “Doesn’t persuasion work on you?” Queen Raisa said.

  Evan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never . . . submitted to this kind of magic before.”

  Sul’Han was staring at Evan now, eyes narrowed, as if he’d had some kind of epiphany. He leaned over and whispered something to Shadow Dancer, who nodded.

  “Well,” the queen said briskly, “we’ve been at this a good while already. Perhaps we should—”

  “Let me try,” Prince Adrian said.

  Suddenly, the healer was the center of attention.

  Queen Raisa shook her head. “I was about to say that perhaps we should recess for now and review what—”

  “I promise I won’t hurt him, Mother,” the healer said, those remarkable blue-green eyes fixed on Evan. “But I believe I can get at the truth.”

  “Lord Bayar is as capable as any wizard in the realm when it comes to interrogation,” the queen said, her voice low and furious.

  Now the healer looked at Evan. “Do you object?” he said.

  Sweat trickled between Evan’s shoulder blades, but he shrugged and said, “Why not?”

  The prince swapped places with the High Wizard. Sul’Han sat across the table from Evan, shook back the sleeves of his jacket, reached across, and gripped his hands. The prince’s hands were strong, callused, buzzing with energy. There came that same cold current as before, though perhaps a bit more . . . intuitive. Then the prince said, “What’s that on the back of your neck?”

  Evan’s heart plummeted to his toes, and his palms grew slippery with sweat. They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like a lifetime.

  Outed, Evan thought. But how? He’d made sure to keep his neck under cover. He said nothing aloud.

  “Lord Bayar,” Prince Adrian said, his grip tightening on Evan’s hands, pinning them in place. “Could you examine the back of Strangward’s neck and tell us what you see?”

  Evan heard the wizard’s robes rustle as he crossed to where he could stand behind him. He could feel Bayar’s fingers brushing his skin, raising gooseflesh as the wizard swept his hair aside. It reminded him of that day in Montaigne’s palace at Ardenscourt, when he’d done the same to Jenna Bandelow in front of an audience of gawkers.

  What goes around comes around, he thought. What you cast into the waves often washes up on your own private beach.

  He heard Bayar’s dry, amused voice. “It would appear to be a metal-and-stone badge, like an embedded amulet,” he said, his breath warming the back of Evan’s neck. “I assume that it is what we have been calling a magemark.”

  Evan heard chairs scraping, the sound of feet padding across the floor as they all had their look. He kept his eyes on the healer, who wore a trace of a smile.

  “I think now would be a good time to have a recess,” the healer said.

  26

  A COMMON CAUSE

  When Evan returned to the suite of rooms he shared with his crew, they were boiling with curiosity about the interrogation. Evan kept them in suspense while he retrieved his burner and kettle from the corner, put water on to heat, and set out the tiny cups for the tay ceremony. He knew they would need fortification against this news. Those reborn in blood never lost their desire for it.

  When the water was steaming, they watched in avid silence as Evan added the smoky leaves to the brew. While they steeped, he stripped back his sleeve, found a spot on his scarred forearm, and sliced it open, dripping his blood into the common pot.

  Evan served each crew member himself. It was the least he could do for people cursed with a thirst that would never be quenched.

  When all had been served, Evan slumped into a chair, stirred the fire with a stick, and said, “They know.”

  They all looked at one another, as if each hoped that somebody else would ask a question.

  “They know . . . what?” Brody said finally.

  “They know about the magemark,” Evan said. This was met with a collective groan. Secrets like that didn’t keep. There was no stronghold, no prison strong enough to keep them safe, once Celestine knew where he was. It was all Evan could do to stay in his seat and not stand and begin pacing, which would not help the mood in the room.

  “What are we going to do?” Teza said.

  “I’m not sure it much matters what we do,” Evan said.

  “Do you think they will sell you to the empress?” Brody said. “Or trade you to get their port back?” That was Brody—always the cheerful one.

  “I don’t really have control of this story going forward,” Evan said. “A lot depends on the healer.”

  “The healer?” Jorani scowled. “He hates you, doesn’t he?”

  “Maybe,” Evan said. “I think I’m beginning to win him over, though. If I can stay alive another year or two, we might be friends.”

  “Let’s go find the healer and make him be your friend,” Jorani said.

  Right, Evan thought. That could go wrong in oh, so many ways.

  This pessimistic thought was interrupted by voices outside the door, as if the guards outside were arguing with s
omeone. Finally, the door banged open, revealing the surly healer prince, Adrian sul’Han.

  The bluejackets guarding the door admitted him, then pulled the door shut behind him. Instantly, Teza, Jorani, Brody, and the others fanned out, forming a wall in front of Evan.

  Evan pushed his way to the front of his crew, waving them off. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure this is a friendly visit.” Turning to the healer, he said, “Good evening. To what do I owe this unexpected—”

  “We need to talk,” sul’Han said, displaying his usual charm.

  “I agree,” Evan said. “But what’s it been, two hours, since we last spoke? Do you have those notes with you? It might save some time.”

  “I’d rather start fresh, and speak frankly. There’s too much at stake to waste time sparring with you.” The healer was as serious as death.

  Evan folded his arms and broadened his stance. “Will you speak frankly as well?”

  “Of course,” the healer said, as if that point was never in question. He ran his eyes over the hovering Stormborn. “I’d prefer to meet privately.”

  This brought protests from Evan’s crew.

  “The healer doesn’t mean me any harm,” Evan said. “Else he wouldn’t have come alone.”

  This spawned another chorus of objections.

  Evan lifted the pot from the burner and handed it off to Teza. “Go. And take this with you.”

  They were still grumbling when they went out the door. With the tay.

  “Your crew seems . . . unusually loyal,” the wolf prince said, staring after them in a way that suggested that he really meant “fanatical,” “obsessive,” or “paranoid.”

  “The empress has put a sizable price on my head, and there are always those who would like to cash in. The only way I’ve been able to keep a crew that won’t betray me is through a blood bond. There’s a price to be paid for that.” Evan gathered pillows from the furniture and tossed them down, onto the rug. “Let’s sit, shall we, and have a civilized conversation. I’ve not much to offer in the way of refreshments, but I could brew up a fresh pot of tay. It’s a beverage popular in Carthis for bringing people—”

  “No,” the healer said. Then added, “Thank you.”

  Evan shrugged and sat down on one of the pillows. After a moment’s hesitation, the healer sat, his hands resting on his knees, the lamps behind him sending his long shadow across the floor.

  “Now, then,” Evan said, figuring that he would get a question in first if he could. “I’m curious. What tipped you off to the magemark?”

  “Your resistance to direct magic,” sul’Han said. “I had the same kind of sensation when I questioned Jenna.” He paused. “So, what can you tell me about magemarks?”

  “Disappointingly little, I’m afraid,” Evan said. “For five years now, I’ve been looking for someone who can explain it to me. Someone besides the empress, I mean, who no doubt would be happy to fill me in.”

  “So. Is she hunting you, too? Or are you working for her?” Sul’Han rolled his eyes. “I’m so confused.”

  Evan laughed, a little amazed to find out that the healer had a sense of humor.

  “One thing I’ve learned in the past five years is to trust no one with the truth. Lying about nearly everything has become a habit—it’s how I stay alive.”

  “If you plan to keep lying, tell me now, and that will save us both some time,” the healer said, all traces of humor gone.

  “I have no plans to lie to you,” Evan said, which was true enough. Then again, plans change.

  “So. About magemarks,” the healer said.

  “I’ve been marked for as long as I can remember,” Evan said. “My first memories date from when I was four or five, running the streets of Endru in Carthis, doing whatever I needed to do to stay alive.” Evan relayed the rest of the story—how he’d been plucked from the streets by Latham Strangward and added to his crew.

  “Captain Strangward told me to keep the magemark hidden, that it would rile up the crew. It wasn’t until I met Celestine Nazari for the first time that I found out she was hunting the magemarked. So. When the empress learned that I was aboard Strangward’s ship, she demanded that he give me up. Strangward refused. In fact, he threatened to kill me rather than turn me over to her.” Evan paused, the old pain, the questions elbowing forward. “I’m still not sure who he was protecting—me, or everyone else. Whatever his motive, it didn’t work out well for him. He lost his ship, his crew, and his life. I escaped.”

  The prince, head cocked, was studying him. He didn’t seem to be coiled quite as tightly as he had been. “We may have more in common than I thought,” he said.

  Evan nodded, thinking it was ironic that he was having this heart-to-heart with sul’Han, of all people.

  “So,” the healer said, with an air of getting down to the real business of the evening, “you say the empress is your enemy. Why, then, did you go to Ardenscourt pretending to be representing her?”

  “As I told the council, I went to try to prevent the king of Arden from making an alliance with Celestine, and so acquiring a person with a magemark. That person turned out to be Jenna Bandelow.”

  “Did you know Jenna before then?”

  Evan shook his head. “I had not known there was another one of us hiding in the wetlands until I got the message that a deal was in the offing. I couldn’t offer an army, but there is a huge population of dragons in the mountains at home. I hoped that if I could persuade King Gerard to trade Jenna for the dragon, I could kill the deal. King Gerard wouldn’t have an army, and Celestine wouldn’t have Jenna.” Plus, the dragon might burn the capital to the ground.

  “So Montaigne’s refusal to make a trade for the dragon ruined that plan,” the healer said.

  Evan nodded, wishing he could leave it at that. But if Jenna told the healer about his visit to the tower room, the truce between them would be over.

  “Then, I made a mistake,” Evan said, looking down at his hands.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After King Gerard declined my proposal, I went to Jenna’s room to find out what she knew. I thought—I hoped she would be able to tell me something that would reassure me.”

  “Reassure you?”

  “Something that would convince me that even if Montaigne sent her to the empress it would not end in disaster.”

  “Was Jenna able to reassure you?”

  Evan shook his head. “No. It turned out that she knows less than I do. So. Teza and I were—were talking about what to do when she took matters into her own hands. She smashed one of the lamps on the floor and set the room on fire.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? She was trying to escape.”

  “By setting fire to herself?” The healer snorted. “That makes sense. Did she blow a hole in the tower, too?”

  “That happened after I left,” Evan said. “I have a theory, though.”

  Sul’Han tilted his head back, his hands resting on his thighs. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Someone unchained the dragon in the hold of my ship,” Evan said, looking straight into the healer’s eyes. “Someone who left his wizard collar behind.”

  Sul’Han’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted on his cushion. Message received. “Really?”

  “Really. The dragon escaped, flew straight to the tower, and rescued Jenna.”

  The healer’s wary interest dissolved into skepticism. “The dragon again. That’s your theory? That after spending weeks confined belowdecks, this Carthian dragon’s first instinct was to fly across town and smash a hole in a castle to rescue a girl he’d never met?” Sul’Han shook his head. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

  “I think Jenna is a shape-shifter, or at least someone with a special affinity for dragons.”

  “Convince me,” the healer said, looking obstinate as a rock.

  “When Jenna’s in danger, have you noticed that she develops scales?”

/>   The healer, frowning, stared at him, then nodded. “I did see something like that,” he said. “When I was treating Jenna in Ardenscourt, and her wound was healing up, there was, at first, something that looked like scales. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “Exactly. I couldn’t imagine how anyone would have survived that fire in the tower. But she did. I think that she is resistant to flame.”

  “Something you hadn’t counted on,” the healer said.

  “You’re wrong. Nobody is happier than I am that Jenna survived and escaped,” Evan said. Looking into the healer’s face, he thought, Well, maybe somebody is.

  He pressed on, building his case. “Did you notice her eyes?”

  “What about them?” From the healer’s expression, it seemed he didn’t like Evan noticing anything about Jenna.

  “Beautiful, golden, almost reptilian, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose,” sul’Han said grudgingly. “Though I never really thought of them that way.”

  “Something smashes a hole in the tower. Jenna and the sun dragon disappear. The next thing we know, Jenna is in the mountains, ordering an extra-large harness from the upland trader. A harness for a dragon, perhaps?”

  The healer grunted, still uncommitted, but wavering, as if weighing the evidence.

  “Finally, the dragon was with Jenna when I saw her on the coast. It was wearing a harness. After incinerating my ship, she mounted up, and they flew off together.”

  “Jenna. Was riding on the dragon.”

  Evan nodded. “Exactly. Legend has it that the ancient Nazari rulers fielded squadrons of dragon fighters. There are images of them in the ancient texts.”

  The healer scrubbed his hands through his hair. “All right. Leaving the topic of dragons for the moment—let’s say you’d succeeded, and your deal had gone forward. What did you plan to do with Jenna after the trade was made?”