“I didn’t free Krillos. Draken offered him an early release in exchange for military service. Krillos took the mark out of necessity and for his own survival. Not loyalty.”
“He traded his suffering for the suffering of others, Malaq. Don’t dress it up.”
“And don’t downplay it. Desperate people make desperate choices, Ian. But sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get a second chance to choose differently.” I wasn’t sure we were talking about Krillos anymore, but he went on like we were. “His father died when he was a boy. Krillos was looking for a way to support his mother and sisters and he signed onto a trading ship. Six months out they were attacked by pirates. The crew was made to join, or die. He joined and took well to the life.”
“Krillos was raised by pirates? Well, that explains a lot.”
“When he finally set foot on Langorian soil he was a young man. He returned with money only to find his village abandoned and his family dead. Krillos blamed Langor’s nobility, claiming their greed brought about the declining state of the realm. So he killed his captain, took his ship, and set out to attack any that bore the King’s flag. Krillos pissed off a lot of people over the years before he was caught. You can see how pissed off by what they did to his face.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because whatever Krillos has done, whatever you think of him, he and I are committed to the same goal.”
“Which is?”
“Peace. Prosperity. A ruler that puts the well-being of his people first.”
“I suppose that ruler would be you?” Malaq produced a faint shrug of confirmation and I laughed. “So you and your one-handed pirate are going to overthrow Draken, raid his coffers, and save the realms?”
“That’s a rather boring, oversimplification of the process, but… yes.”
His sincerity dried up my amusement. “Does Draken know what you’re up to?”
“My brother’s arrogance won’t allow him to believe me bold enough to challenge him. Your father, however….” Malaq tapped his fingers on the cup in his hand. “Jem Reth is a disturbed man, Ian. He’s obsessive, fanatical. Unpredictable. There’s a rumor his magic has been weakened somehow. I have no idea if it’s true. But Jem is smart. And if he’s been paying attention, he’ll have noticed how many have gone missing.”
“Missing?”
“The war may be over, but the oppression and the persecution by Draken’s men continues. Many have fled their homes. We give refuge to those we can reach. We shelter them, heal them. Train them. We have a small resistance and a modest network of spies. But our numbers are nowhere near enough.”
“Don’t you have other magic users that can help? Other Shinree?”
“What we have, is drug-addled half-breeds. Most of which have never cast a spell in their lives. And a broken erudite. Two actually,” he muttered.
I wondered what an erudite was, but I had another question. “How did you get me out? It couldn’t have been easy if it took this long. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“Never,” he said, with a droll smile. “We used an elemental spell to create a diversion and bring you out of the prison.”
“What kind of diversion?”
“We collapsed the mine you were working in.”
“Were there casualties?”
“I don’t have an exact number.”
Yes he did. Malaq was nowhere near as careless as he pretended. “How many died?” I waited, giving him a chance. He didn’t take it. “How many, Malaq?”
He sat a moment. A small, swift spasm ran across his jaw. “Everyone.”
My muscles clenched. I ran an uneasy hand through my hair. “Please tell me I wouldn’t have wanted that. Tell me I wouldn’t have been okay with others dying so I could be free.”
“No,” he said quietly.
“But you are?”
“I know what you want to hear, Ian. You want me to say it wasn’t an easy decision. That I struggled with the idea of sacrificing their lives for yours. But I didn’t. I didn’t think twice. That’s how badly we need you. Besides, they’re better off.” As Malaq took a swig from his cup, someone rapped on the outside of the cabin door. Malaq didn’t even get to respond before the door opened and Krillos stormed in. Out of breath, hair in his face, water dripped off the man like he’d been taking a bath with his clothes on.
“They found us,” he panted.
Malaq lowered his cup. “Whose ship?”
“No flag,” Krillos said. “And they’re coming up fast.”
“You know what to do.” Malaq turned to me as we both stood. “Go back to the hold. There’s a small storage space under your bed. You’ll have to share, but if you cover it and keep quiet, your presence should go undetected.”
Krillos stepped further in. His scarred cheeks were pink from the cold. “Prince, you need to leave. If you’re caught here...”
“I know.” Malaq looked at me. “Go.”
“I’m not hiding.” The ship turned hard to the right. I grabbed the back of my chair as I stumbled. “I can fight.”
Krillos grunted. “You can’t even stand.”
“More importantly,” Malaq said, coming around the desk, “you don’t know the crew. If it’s a Langorian patrol ship, and we’re boarded, you could kill the wrong men.”
“I think I can tell the difference between a sailor and a soldier.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Turning to me, Krillos put his hand on the sword at his waist. “Get below, Troy. Or so help me, I’ll drag you there myself.” I nodded my cooperation and Krillos looked back at Malaq. “Lirih’s waiting for you.”
I followed them out on deck. The snow had turned to a driving, icy rain and everything that was white before was now a soggy mess. Sheets of water slapped against the sails. Wind whipped the rigging. My clothes, instantly saturated, clung heavy to my skin. My body, having a mean sense of humor, was functioning nicely and in seconds I was shivering.
Someone threw a coat around my shoulders. I turned to say thanks, but they had already moved on. No one had time to bother with me. The drenched, ruddy-faced crew was bustling about like the ship was on fire. They rushed past, intent on their duties while I stayed back, feeling insignificant and in the way. The sentiment increased as Krillos hurried off, shouting orders, and Malaq left me for the rail where two water-logged goats were tied; loudly bleating their protest against the storm.
A small, cloaked figure stood beside the goats. Wind yanked at the edges of the heavy mantle, revealing a woman’s legs in men’s trousers. A thin layer of slushy snow surrounded her dainty booted feet. With the angle and the low hood, I couldn’t see her face, but the hair blowing out from the edges of the oversized cowl was white.
Shinree, I thought. Like me.
Krillos had mentioned someone waiting. I recalled the name: Lirih.
Malaq stepped away from her. One delicate hand lifting, she pointed a finger and began drawing a rectangular pattern in the air. Lirih traced the area repeatedly as she spoke, saying the same words; like a chant. On her fourth time through, a trail of light formed in her wake. Lirih drew the shape once more and sides formed, then a top and a bottom. The air inside the rectangle shimmered. It swirled and heaved, like liquid darkness, rising and falling more rapidly than the undulating waves that rocked the ship.
I know this spell. I’d seen it before. It was a door, a passage to somewhere far away. It was how Malaq was getting off the ship. And how I got on.
I knew then what line of Shinree Lirih was. She’s a door-maker.
Sparks jumped in the black. The outline startled pulsing.
Lirih teetered against the rail. Malaq scooped her up in his arms just as the goats fell over dead. Eye sockets black and empty, their stomachs had caved in. The skin had thinned and shrunken on their skulls; lifting and stretching withered lips back from puckered pink gums and exposing the full length of the animal’s brown teeth in what was, unquestionably, a disconcerting grimace.
Watching the rain beat down on the shriveled goats, I thought, magic-price.
That’s what my people called it when the stone’s auras collected energy. That was the cost of Shinree magic. Yet Lirih had prepared for it. She’d kept the goats close to keep the crew alive. It was smart and commendable, and incredibly foreign.
It was never goats that paid for my spells. I’d never been that responsible with my magic. I’d thrown it out by necessity, not design. I’d paid for it with people. Lots of people. Countless. I saw them clearly—skin dried, faces curled in agony. And I wondered: what kind of person am I?
I looked at Malaq, standing in front of the black, and realized how badly I didn’t want him to go. He was the only one here that could tell me who I was. He was the only one that instinct said wasn’t my enemy.
I wanted to holler, to stop him, but Malaq took Lirih and stepped into the shifting darkness. A blinding light burst out. The door caved inward, and he was gone. I was on my own on a ship full of Langorians. Suddenly, hiding didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
FIVE
Malaq had said it in passing: you’ll have to share. But I hadn’t given it another thought until I stepped into the hold and saw a pretty girl struggling to pull my bed across the floor. Young and petite, possibly a year or two over twenty, she was wearing a dark blue, high-waist dress that fit her girlish figure nicely. What it didn’t match was the pair of men’s boots on her feet. Large and ungainly, the equally large buckles kept snagging the frayed hem of her dress.
Taking one hand off the bed, she gave the skirt a quick yank. Pulling free of the buckle, the end ripped further and she grumbled. “Son of a bitch.”
I grinned. “Need some help?”
Startled, she looked up. Pushing a chunk of short, wavy bangs off her face, the girl smiled. “Ian. I didn’t hear you come in.” Pale of hair and eyes (though with more of a yellowish tint than pure white), her features weren’t anywhere near as conspicuous as mine. But the distinguishing cheekbones were still there.
“You know me¸” I said, my grin wavering. “And you’re Shinree?”
“Half,” she admitted. “My mother was Rellan.” At my prolonged scrutiny, a blush crept over her freckled cheeks. “We should hurry.”
I moved toward her. Two steps in, the ship pitched hard to the left. I lost my footing and stumbled into the wall. The girl lost her grip on the bed. As it slid back into place, she let out a whispered string of obscenities.
I got the idea she’d been keeping company with Malaq’s pirates for a while.
“I’m Kit,” she said, as I pushed off the wall. “You knew my father, Broc.”
An image leapt into my mind; an older man with the same thin nose as her. I was hurt. He was standing over me. There were soldiers all around us. “He was there, in the war.” Abruptly, the scene changed. A stone crown was in my hand. Bodies were at my feet. “Is he dead? Did I…?”
“He’s dead, but you didn’t kill him. My father was a healer for the Rellan army. One of their best,” she smiled proudly. “When my mother died, Queen Aylagar was kind enough to grant him leave. He was only home a few days when word reached our town that you…” Kit paused to re-think her words, “ended the war. We thought he’d be called back into service, but it never happened. He used to say Fate left him alone so he could be there for you.”
“Be there how?”
Sweat soaked the cot beneath me. I was trembling, blurry-eyed. Pain hit my stomach and I doubled over, grabbing the bars of the cage.
With a scream, I stood and rattled them. I hated the bars. I hated the man that put them around me—that actually listened when I told him to lock me up. I hated how he sat, all comfortable and self-righteous in his chair by the fire.
“Let me out,” I said.
He didn’t even glance up from the book in his hand.
I growled his name, “Broc. I’m fine. Let me out.”
Still, he didn’t look at me. He sat and read, stretching out his legs and stroking thoughtful fingers over the long point of white beard dangling off his chin. It was a rare sight on one of us. Trees grow faster than Shinree grow beards, so I knew it had taken Broc years to cultivate. Even if it wasn’t filled in enough to completely hide the dimple on his chin, it made him look a bit lordly. It was a testament to the man’s strength of character and impossible amount of patience. And if he came close enough, I could grab it and yank his head into the bars.
“Let me out,” I said again. “I don’t even feel like casting. I think I’m over it.”
“You won’t ever be over it,” he said quietly.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I shouted. Wrestling with my anger, I tried again. “Look, I’m okay. I was wrong. I don’t need to be locked up. I can—”
Broc snapped his book shut. “This is the third time in the last three months you’ve come to me. The first was the day you left Kabri, after Aylagar’s funeral. You showed up drunk and left the same way a day or two later. You claimed you were fine then too, rambling on, all puffed-up and cocksure about how you were going off to hunt bounties or sell your sword to the highest bidder…or some brash, foolhardy crap like that. The second time, you crawled in sick and beat to hell. I healed you, cleaned you up. You went a whole week without casting and swore up and down you could handle it. You were shaking when you left so I can’t imagine you lasted too long.”
Standing, Broc tossed his book on his chair and walked up to the bars. There was a speck of sympathy in his white eyes, but mostly he looked fed up. “This time you came in sober. Your head was clear. You bought the materials and built this cage in my barn. Then you told me to lock you in it and not let you out until you could hold a fucking stone in your hand and not give a shit—your exact words, I believe.” Slipping a hand in his trouser pocket, he pulled out a small, blue stone. It sat in the middle of his palm; edges coarse, color dull. He called to it and the stone pulsed. “Well? Go ahead. Take it. Hold it. See if you still give a shit.”
I did, very much.
Swallowing, I gripped the bars harder. “Put it away.”
Blinking as the memory faded, I took a breath. “He helped me quit magic. He was a good man. A good friend.”
Sadness touched Kit’s eyes as she smiled. “Yes, he was.”
“What happened to him?”
“My father didn’t take kindly to the Langorian invasion. When the soldiers came to our home, he fought back. You rubbed off on him, I think.” She’d said it with admiration, but if my influence got her father killed, I wasn’t sure I deserved it. “My brother tried to intervene. He always fancied himself a fighter, but he didn’t have the skill.” Shrugging, Kit gestured at the bed. “Can you…?”
She stepped aside. I took hold of the metal frame and tugged it across the room.
“I’m no coward,” she said then.
Her confession confused me. “I didn’t say you were.”
“I cooperated with the enemy because I knew if I stayed alive, you would find a way to save me. To save all of us.”
Taken aback, I laughed. “Gods, girl, I was in need of saving as much as anyone.”
Her self-conscious gaze fell way. Kneeling down in the empty space left by the bed, Kit brushed at the grime on the floor. “It’s here.”
I crouched beside her. The faint light made it hard to see, but there was a definite outline of a square running through the boards. Sliding my hand in the notch carved into the middle, I pulled out a short lead of rope. I gave a yank, the door opened, and a burst of damp, foul-smelling air hit my face. “Ugh.” I turned my head and coughed out the taste.
Kit leaned past me and peered in. “Look’s tight.” Sitting at the edge, she scooted down inside. Water splashed as her feet hit the bottom. She sat down and gasped, “Cold.”
I pulled the bed back over. It was impossible to cover our hiding place entirely and leave room for me to get in, but I angled it pretty well. Shimmying down next to Kit, I closed the door over our heads. All tr
ace of light disappeared and I instantly realized her assessment of the space was right. The hole was nowhere near big enough for two. She’d also been right about the cold, I thought, as the frigid water penetrated my trousers.
Kit’s teeth were chattering.
“Come here.” I lifted her up. Cradling the girl awkwardly in the cramped confines, I sat cross-legged and put her on my lap. She still shivered, but quieter. Most of her was out of the water now and Kit had no qualms about laying her head down on my shoulder, wrapping her arms about me, and snuggling in close to stay warm.
I was a little less content. Having only just woken from its two year slumber, my body was acutely aware of her shaking against me. Her damp, tousled hair was exceedingly soft on my skin. As was the bit of leg I was touching where one side of her dress was askew. Cold and fear had her breath coming fast, and I was having trouble handling the unintentional way Kit was moving against the front of me. Without the layer of icy water I was sitting in, my reaction to her nearness would have been incredibly obvious. And wrong, I thought, considering my apparent friendship with her father.
Clearing my throat, I struggled to focus on something besides her body. “It was you, wasn’t it? Sitting bedside, taking care of me these last few weeks.”
“I’ve been taking care of you longer than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the Langorians took me, I was assigned to work at the prison where you were held. I kept the convicted healthy enough to work and repaired their injuries. I took my time, delaying their recovery to give them a few more hours of comfort. I hated it. But I told myself I was helping. I convinced myself I was doing all I could. Then they brought you in. The guards had beaten you. They’d put so much Kayn’l in your blood you looked right through me.” Kit swallowed the emotion from her voice. “It broke my heart seeing you like that.” Her hand slid over mine in the dark.
“Go on,” I urged.
“When Draken requested a healer be permanently assigned to you, I volunteered. He didn’t care that my talent was less than my father’s. He wanted someone to follow orders. Someone who wouldn’t shrink away from the terrible things that went on in that place. Who was competent and detached enough to oversee things.”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 5
