The Court Of Stars (The Commonwealth Quartet Book 1)

by Malcolm Schmitz

  Samuel tel Verdenlace stood before him.

  For a brief moment, he wondered if this was a demon in Samuel's image. Then he realized that he was a fool, and snorted at his own folly. When Georg had said 'Verdenlace', Christian had assumed he'd meant Lord Verdenlace. But of course he'd meant Samuel.

  The betrayal hurt, of course, but as he considered it, he realized that he'd never heard Samuel say he was loyal to the king. This was a warning from God, he thought. He needed to be less trusting.

  "Lord Arundel." Samuel approached him and bowed low. "I thought you'd have a troop of the King's men here."

  "My word is my bond." Christian swallowed, clasping his hands behind his back. He knew he'd made a mistake, but it was too late to turn back now, wasn't it? "Besides, we have a common goal."

  "What would that be?" Samuel gestured the crewmen away and raised an eyebrow at Christian.

  "We both want to rescue our sisters."

  Samuel blinked. For a fraction of a second, Christian thought, he looked surprised.

  "My sister wasn't taken." Samuel put his hands in his pockets. "But come, this way. We have much to discuss.”

  ★★★

  The captain's cabin was large and airy, though sparsely furnished. The walls were white. Oak paneling, which Christian thought was too rich to be wasted on a ship, edged the floor, the ceiling, and the supporting beams. Large windows stretched across the stern, giving Christian a good view of the harbor.

  Despite the wide view, he still felt trapped. Perhaps it was because the captain's desk, which was covered in maps and strange navigational instruments, was bolted to the ground. Perhaps it was the windows, through which all he could see were waves. They made his stomach turn with apprehension: sea travel had never agreed with him.

  The biggest cause of his discomfort, though, was the two siege engines that sat on either side of the captain's desk. They were loaded with large, razor-sharp, iron arrows, and they were pointed at him.

  Verdenlace sat at the desk, feet resting atop it. He leaned back in his chair like a child, teetering it on two legs. He was toying with a brass navigational instrument, but looked up as Christian entered.

  "You didn't bring your familiar in here, did you?"

  Christian felt the pit drop out of his stomach.

  "She's not a demon, Verdenlace."

  "Whatever she is, she disturbs me." The Captain set down the instrument, steepling his fingers. "Tell me, Lord Arundel. Why did you agree to come?"

  "I told you, Verdenlace. My sister's being held by the monsters." Christian ran his fingers through his hair, spiking it up, slightly. It made him feel a little safer.

  "No other reason?" The Captain raised an eyebrow.

  Christian felt his cheeks grow hot as he thought, for a moment, of Mercadier.

  Damn him, why did that bastard come to mind so easily? He shoved the thought away. Even thinking of him was dangerous; he was toying with his soul.

  "Some of my House's allies were also taken. Among them, my sister's husband-to-be, the heir to House Mercadier. ...I need their help to keep her safe."

  "We do have a goal in common."

  "And what would that be? I have no time for riddles."

  "The voyage will take a few weeks, Arundel. That's not enough time for you?" Samuel grinned, but Christian caught a hint of tension at the corners of his mouth.

  "But, in answer to your question," he continued, "we're both trying to rescue Sir Mercadier. Though you have ulterior motives, don't you?"

  "No." Christian frowned. His reasons were entirely good; he wanted to rescue Mercadier so that he could help keep Linna safe. He'd pushed every other motive from his mind, hadn't he?

  "Why do you want to rescue him?" he asked Verdenlace.

  "You know about the conspiracy, yes?"

  "Yes." Christian's teeth clenched. He breathed in deep, through his nose, and let it out. He'd been a fool to agree to this, but there was a bigger enemy to deal with for now, and he'd have to ride his bad decision out. "What's your point?"

  "Anthony-sorry, Sir Mercadier-he's our leader." Samuel set down the sextant.

  Christian winced. He knew that Samuel was probably speaking the truth, and it stung like a slap to the face. Mercadier was many things, but you couldn't really call him 'trustworthy'. Most of the nobles plotted against the king; it was the easiest route to the throne, or so they said, and who didn't want that?

  Christian could easily see Mercadier orchestrating a plot like that, and on the grand scale, too. It made his stomach turn, more than seasickness had.

  "Do you think I'm lying?" Samuel tilted his head to one side. "The man might not be honorable, but he has the right ideas."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Mercadier thinks women should be treated a little less like dolls, and a little more like men." Samuel crossed his ankles and looked him in the eye.

  "You're mad.” Christian stared back at him. Their gazes locked like swords. “Women can't fight like men."

  "No one's saying they ought to." Samuel was silent for a long moment. "But men and women can't even converse without a chaperone."

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Christian scowled. He knew why men and women were separated; it was to keep them from carnal desire. It made perfect sense.

  (A little part of his mind told him this wasn't true. After all, even when he was alone, he had much trouble keeping his own thoughts pure. He could only imagine how it would be for a man who loved women.)

  "It doesn't have to be that way." Samuel's eyes lit with a strange fervor, the terrifying certainty of the madman. "I've seen places-in Faroven, you know-where men and women talk like equals. Women don't even wear veils there."

  "The people of Faroven are savages. Most of them aren't even Christians." Christian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. If this conversation was a duel, he thought, he was losing badly.

  "It's not that. They just think that women are people." Samuel leaned forward in his seat. "Isn't that something worth fighting for?"

  Christian frowned.

  "You have your own reasons for this madness," he began. He had tried to decide how to word this tactfully, but he wasn't conversationally graceful. Linna probably could have, but...

  His hand clenched into a fist, and his voice trailed off.

  "It's not madness, Arundel. I wish you could see that." Samuel sagged in his chair. "Even if it is, though... I need your help."

  Samuel stood up, and walked towards the window. He stood in front of it for a moment, hands behind his back, looking out at the sea. Christian watched him, warily.

  "Lord Arundel..." Samuel began.

  He turned back towards Christian and pulled the mask up, over his face. He began to pace back and forth with the regularity of a metranome.

  "We both want to rescue Mercadier."

  Christian listened, silently.

  "You need the other partner in your alliance, and I need the leader of my rebellion, yes?" Samuel folded his arms. "And no one would fault you for rescuing your sister before anyone else, but..."

  "Get to the point, Verdenlace." Christian gripped the arms of the chair, hanging on as if for dear life.

  Samuel began to pace in front of the window again. He was silhouetted in its light, looking for all the world like he'd escaped from an illuminated manuscript.

  "After you save Linna... could you work on rescuing Lord Mercadier, before all else?" he asked.

  "Why should I? I don't support your rebellion." Christian's fingers curled around the hard wooden armrest.

  The words had spilled from his lips. He hadn't meant to say them-it was a knee-jerk reaction, meant to disguise his untoward passions. But now there was no turning back.

  He wondered if the Captain would have him thrown from the ship, and his shoulders tensed.

  "I don't 'support' your House," Samuel snapped back. "You're doing this for the love of your sister, and I-"

  He cut himself off, with the sharpnes
s Christian had come to know all too well. Christian's heart stabbed with sympathy. He knew how it was to have to hide feelings of that sort, but...

  No, he was imagining things. No one else shared his-his perversion, did they?

  Samuel took a deep breath and pushed the mask up with his fingers. The gold gleamed in the light. Christian wished he could get a better look at Samuel's face-he'd always been bad at reading people's emotions, and he wished he could get some insight into Samuel's mind now. If there was anyone in the world who thought like him-even if if it was wrong-he'd feel a little less alone.

  He tried to stop himself from wanting it. He closed his eyes, and swallowed hard.

  "...I can understand your goal," Samuel said, more mildly. "Have you met my father?"

  It seemed an odd thing to say, at that moment. Christian's heart sank within him. Of course he hadn't been talking about Mercadier in the same way that Christian thought about him.

  "Yes," Christian said, carefully. "Lord Verdenlace? He's a good man."

  It was an obvious lie, but it was the kind you used for politeness' sake.

  "His mind isn't what it was." Samuel stared out at the harbor, hands clasped behind his back. "You know, I do most of his business for him?”

  Why was he telling Christian this? What was there to gain? Christian frowned.

  “Almost no one knows it, but... he can barely remember his own name."

  "That's quite a shame," Christian said. He had known, of course, and he knew most of the other Lords also knew. But Samuel could be excused for thinking to the contrary. "From what my father said, he was quite the formidable rival."

  "He was never the same after-" Samuel took a deep breath. "Forgive me if I don't want to air my Family's secrets."

  "You're forgiven." Christian watched, impassively.

  “Family is the most important thing in this world, isn't it?”

  Christian nodded again.

  Samuel pushed his hair back and paced, back and forth. The golden trim on his jacket gleamed in the light of the morning sun, blinding Christian. He squinted, so he could watch him.

  "Lord Arundel, I'm... glad for your help," he finally said. "But... it pains me that you can't see things as I do."

  "I understand that," Christian said, cautiously. He was, as usual, lost for words. If only Miriet could have told him what to say! Whether she was a demon or not, she had the glibness of the devil himself. Words never fled from her, the way they fled from him.

  "No matter." Samuel turned to him and smiled, crisply. "If you do change your mind, please tell me. King Anthony will be able to use a man like you."

  It sent shivers down Christian's spine to hear Mercadier referred to as King. He cared for Mercadier, he really did, but he'd never trust him with the throne. Didn't Samuel know how craven Mercadier could be at his worst, and how many promises he'd broken?

  "Well, thank you for your... confidence." Christian's voice was halting, and he wished he could sound more certain of himself. "I'll think on your words, certainly."

  Samuel inclined his head, in the half-bow of a nobleman speaking to someone of higher rank.

  "Thank you. Your cabin's belowdecks. I think your familiar is waiting for you there." His tone was full of disdain; he gestured towards the door.

  Christian left the captain's cabin, and leaned against the wall, to brace himself. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and massaged his temples. That had been a strenuous conversation, but an informative one. He'd learned quite a bit about Sir Verdenlace. Most of it he didn't care to think about. Notably, the fact that Samuel was...

  There was no mistaking the note of desperate hope, mingled with admiration, that shook through Samuel's voice when he spoke of Anthony. The same desperate hope tinged all of Christian's thoughts of him.

  He tried to put Mercadier out of his mind and only think of Samuel. He pitied the fool, of course, for he'd been in the same situation. No wonder Samuel had been so terrified of his betrothal! But it would make circumstances much more difficult for Christian than he'd like. Christian knew, full well, the difficulties that sort of situation could create. Worse, Samuel didn't seem like the sort of man that could hold his tongue.

  And as if to crown the whole mess, Samuel's 'ideals', if you could call them that, would prove to be a stumbling-block. Christian wanted to rescue Linna, Mercadier, and the King, in that order. He suspected that Mercadier wasn't the only rebel who'd been taken. If he was to rescue the people he cared for most, he wouldn't be able to rescue a gaggle of minor nobles that were 'important' to Captain Verdenlace's rebellion.

  His shoulders hunched up, and his hands went to his pockets. He mulled these ideas over as he walked, nursing them the way one would nurse a toothache.

  ★★★

  Christian's cabin was small and dark, and it smelled like feet. It was barely two paces across, but it was longer than it was wide. Miriet's scales had turned brown, mirroring the splintery walls. She rested on the top of the hammock, right above Christian's head. Her tail occasionally flicked as she moved.

  "I don't trust him," she said, apropos of nothing.

  "The captain?" Christian looked up at her.

  Miriet nodded. Her neck swayed like a swan's, turning to meet his gaze.

  "He seems like he's hiding something, doesn't he? Like there's some terribly dark secret that he's got." Her tone was flippant, but her gaze was deadly serious.

  "Everyone has secrets," Christian said.

  "I know. But he seems like he wants you to figure it out." Miriet shrugged, and her spine undulated in one long, lazy movement. She looked like a strange eel swimming through a sea of splinters.

  "I don't know about that." He frowned. "... Speaking of secrets..."

  "Mm?" She blinked, lazily.

  "Why are you assisting me?" He frowned.

  "That's not a secret." She rolled onto her back, all six legs sticking up into the air. "We both need the same things, nen?"

  "No, we don't." Christian tried to stare her down, eyes narrowing. "I'm a Christian knight, and you're... possibly a demon."

  "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." Miriet sounded amused. "Seriously, what does 'demon' even mean?"

  "Servants of Satan. Enemies of all things good." Christian rolled over just as the ship lurched upwards. The hammock pitched, and he thought he'd fall.

  He clung to the thick rope and closed his eyes.

  "Heavy stuff." Miriet didn't seem to have any trouble staying on the hammock. "But I'm not a demon, I swear."

  "That's exactly what a demon would say." Christian groaned. The constant movement was making his stomach turn.

  "Touche." Miriet sounded more than a little amused.

  Christian tried to distract himself by talking.

  "The world is at war between the servants of Satan and the servants of God, and.... you're on the other side."

  "I swear I'm not a demon." Miriet's scales began to change colour, to a dull bronze. "I'm not trying to fight you and I'm not trying to fight your god."

  "So what do you want of me, if not my soul?"

  Miriet's tail twitched.

  "...Well..." she began, and muttered what sounded like a curse. She actually sounded hesitant, which surprised Christian. "Let me just... I have to apologize."

  "What for?" Christian looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. Demons didn't apologize; for that matter, neither did angels. Remorse was for humans.

  "I've failed as an anthropologist and I'm about to h-to screw things up even more." Her head drooped, like a sad cat's. "I judged your culture before properly getting to know it, and now I'm gonna break the non-contamination guidelines. So... yeah. I suck at this."

  There was an awkward silence.

  "What's an anthropologist?" Christian finally ventured.

  "Somebody that studies cultures and doesn't judge them. And... apparently I'm really bad at that." She sagged like a broken toy. Her scales shimmered from bronze to a dark gr
een, and her voice was very quiet.

  Christian wanted to help her, but he wasn't sure how. He felt useless, and that made him feel sicker than the raging sea could ever have. When he spoke, his voice was gruffer than he'd have liked.

  "That still doesn't answer my question. Why would you, a demon, help a Christian like me? Your kind conquered us. Is it because I'm already damned?"

  Miriet's ears perked up.

  "Wait, you think I'm the same species as the Soreks?" She snuffled again, whiskers twitching. "Oh, that's rich."

  "There are many kinds of demon," he said, defensively.

  "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times-I'm not a demon."

  Her tail twitched, and her scales changed color once again. It almost looked as though someone had spread ink on her scales, and it blurred and mixed with the green, turning gray, then brown, before shimmering to the color of heather.

  "I'm a Teliat," she said. "Told you this already."

  "I still don't understand what you mean." Christian's brow furrowed.

  "You know, from another world? My homeworld's called Teilia." She sat up on her hind legs, swaying a little as the hammock moved.

  "Another world?!" Christian did his best to hide his dismay, but he could hear it trembling in his voice.

  "Something wrong?" Miriet said.

  "Yes, there's something wrong!" Christian clenched his fist, and tried to swallow the painful lump in his throat. It made his stomach lurch more, and he laid back, trying to calm himself. "You're speaking heresy."

  "Heresy? Is it heresy if it's true?" Miriet's voice grew a little cold. Her tail twitched, smacking the side of Christian's head.

  He winced, more at her words than at the blow.

  "No, I suppose not, but..." His brow furrowed, and he rubbed the spot that Miriet's tail had hit. "There's only one world. This one. ...Heaven and Hell don't count."

  "Who told you that one?" Miriet's nostrils flared.

  "The Church?" Christian's stomach wrenched again.

  "Hah." Miriet's tail whacked Christian in the head, and he winced. "That's a great source of information."