Conard did not bother to correct him. Turning, he stepped gingerly around a pair of mud puddles and made his way to the only thing that could pass for a general store in Bogside. Inside, he had to wait behind the four merchants who were bartering with the shop-owner. Once the store was empty but for him and the owner, Conard stepped up and handed his entire leather purse to the man.
“I need as many supplies as this can buy,” he said. “I’m heading south.”
* * *
For the next two days, Laina could hardly leave her room without coming across Prince Ronnick. It seemed that he spent the day sitting in the entrance hall, just for the pleasure of bowing and stuttering at her on her way down to the garden. The more she saw of him, the more she came to suspect that he was just as much a pawn of his father as any of his brothers. Such a weak-willed prince would surely not be scheming to wriggle his way onto a throne without a more devious mind spurring him on.
“Where is Father?” she asked Nort when the two guards appeared in Doran’s room mid-morning on the third day since the unfortunate dinner. “He needs to tell that impossible prince to make himself useful and get out of the house.”
“We’d be happy to kick him out for you, if you can’t find the king,” Barrik said slyly.
“I might well take you up on that offer.”
On the way past his study, Laina called, “Father?”
There was no answer. The door was shut tightly, which generally meant no one was around.
“Haven’t seen the king meself,” Nort said, “but I heard something of a to-do earlier in the yard. Might be he’s gone off somewhere to keep them architects in line.”
“Right,” Laina said. “I hope he hasn’t taken Feather.”
Barrik snorted. “I wouldn’t say he’s much of a rider.”
As Laina had feared, Prince Ronnick was again waiting in the entrance hall. This time he had contrived to look as though he were heading somewhere important, and had simply been interrupted in the midst of his daily duties.
“Fancy seeing you there, my lady!” Spinning on his heel, Prince Ronnick bowed with a flourish. Laina wondered if he had been practicing. “I was just heading out.”
“Where?” Laina asked.
“I—erm—” He clearly had not thought that far ahead. “I thought I could go see the town. I’ve never seen Lostport except at night.”
Laina tried to keep a straight face. “Your legs could do with a bit of muscle,” she said. “A good walk down the stairs might be exactly what you need.” She brushed past him before he could figure out what she meant.
Though the front lawn was bustling with household staff and unfamiliar merchants unloading supplies for the construction project, Laina’s father was absent, along with his advisor. She skirted around the chaos, drawing little attention from the harried merchants, and began the long descent down the hillside stairway. The town lay at its foot, nestled amongst the trees, and beyond that the ocean stretched to the horizon. It was a relief to leave the confines of her father’s manor, with Doran sulking, Prince Ronnick following her like a puppy, and the architects lurking around every corner. Here, the salty breeze whistled through the trees and lifted her braid from her shoulders, carrying a flock of shrieking seagulls ever higher.
At last she reached town and made her way toward the waterfront. Many of the homes were set farther back in the woods, some nestled so deep within that they were nearly impossible to find, yet a good hundred were clustered together on a cleared section of land behind the town center. The center itself was no more than a line of simple wooden buildings bordering the port. The same dirt road that zigzagged up to Laina’s home here continued alongside the shore before connecting up with the forest road toward Port Emerald, and in the heart of town a boardwalk joined the dirt road to provide relief from the ever-present mud. Laina knocked dirt from her boots before stepping onto the boardwalk, checking to see if anyone had recognized her. But there were more strangers about than usual, and no one spared her more than a passing glance.
Though she had never entered the building, Laina knew exactly where to find the Seal’s Roost. It, along with three other inns and two taverns, was perched at the end of town just beside the dock. Laina recognized the Seal’s Roost as the nicest of the four inns; if Swick could afford to stay somewhere reputable, he was likely to be a decent sort of man.
The boardwalk creaked beneath Laina’s feet as she drew up to the inn.
Before she could knock, the inn door creaked open.
It was a man with a heavy leather coat; Laina guessed he was the innkeeper. His gaze traveled from Laina’s sturdy boots to her face, and it was a moment before he recognized her.
“Wonderful to see you, my lady,” he said, clasping a fist respectfully to his chest. “Are you here on business, or just stopping in for a wee bite?”
Laina shook her head. “That remains to be seen. Is a Darden man by the name of Swick staying here?”
The innkeeper beamed at her. “Absolutely, my lady! Would you like me to fetch him?”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, Swick appeared in the doorway, ducking to clear the low frame. His beard was trimmed closer than before, his grey hair smoothed to the side; he had the air of a scholar, despite his build.
“Have you truly come to take me up on the offer of lessons?” He sounded delighted.
“Perhaps,” Laina said. “I need something to occupy my time.”
“Excellent. Please, come join us.” He led Laina into the dim confines of the inn.
“I hope you don’t mind if we camp in the dining room for a while,” Swick said over his shoulder to the innkeeper, who had returned to the kitchen.
The innkeeper did not bother to reply. It seemed that Swick had already been sitting in one corner of the room—there were bits of parchment spread all across a circular table that benefitted from a rectangle of golden sunlight, and several well-cleaned plates were stacked amidst the debris. Another man sat at the table, shuffling papers as Swick approached. As she took a seat, Laina got a better look at Swick’s companion. He was clearly foreign—from Varrival, the desert kingdom, if she guessed right—and he had the unmistakable red-brown skin and black hair of the glass merchants she had met in years past. Laina tried not to stare; no matter how many times she saw the merchants from Varrival, they always struck her as intriguingly foreign. This man was attractive, too, in an exotic sort of way.
“Is this the princess you spoke of?” the man from Varrival asked smoothly. His Whitish was flawless, but he rounded the letters with a far more musical accent than anyone in Lostport.
Swick slid into the larger of the two empty seats. “Of course.” Laina thought his smile looked a bit smug.
“I’m Laina.” She nodded politely to the Varrilan.
“Jairus,” he said quickly. With his accent, the name came out soft and elegant.
“Are you a cartographer as well, or an architect here to build Port Emerald?”
“Both, my lady,” he said, looking down. “I was trained as a glass-cutter, and hired to outfit a city in Dardensfell. It was there that Master Swick took me on as an apprentice cartographer. I have grown too fond of travel, of late. Maps are the easiest excuse to continue my journey.”
Laina nodded. Though he was not forthcoming, Jairus struck her as talented and well-spoken. Already she liked him.
“Have you seen a map of the Kinship Thrones, my lady?” Swick asked, extracting a still-rolled parchment from his satchel and spreading it across the table.
“Of course,” Laina said. She immediately recognized the nine thrones and the rivers marked on Swick’s map. “Though never one as beautiful as this.”
Swick laughed. “No more flattery, my lady. We won’t accomplish much that way.”
Smiling wryly, Laina bent her head over the map. As always, Lostport was a single dot in the midst of an unmarked tangle of forests and mountains. The city lay at the intersection of the river and the sea, bu
t it was utterly lost in the wilderness at the southeastern-most reach of the nine kingdoms.
“Are there better maps of Lostport?” Laina asked. “Has anyone drawn the forest road yet?”
“No. And I hope to be the first.” Swick definitely looked smug this time.
“If I accompany you, can I share in the credit?” Laina asked.
“No,” Swick said. Then he laughed. “What sort of question is that? I would be proud to share my fame with a princess.”
To her left, Jairus paused in the middle of scribbling a note to shake his head.
“Show her your map, Jairus.” Swick rolled the larger map back into a narrow tube and cleared a space in front of Laina. “This is another reason I was so keen on teaching Jairus,” he said, turning to Laina. “He’s a brilliant artist.”
Forehead reddening, Jairus brought forth a smaller map, which Swick flattened on the table before Laina.
It was the forest road. “I thought no one had mapped it!” Laina said. She put a finger to Lostport, in the left-hand corner, and traced the spiderweb-thin line as it wound through the trees to a crescent-shaped port tucked among mountains.
“It’s not a real map,” Jairus said. “Everyone we met while journeying here had their own idea of what this rainforest road looked like, and where it truly led, so I tried to draw it how I imagined it.”
“I imagine this is closer to the reality than most guesses,” Swick said, tapping his pen to his temple. “However, we plan to travel the road ourselves in a quarter’s time. If you can persuade your father to trust us, you may come along as well.”
Laina laughed coldly. “It’s not you he cannot trust. It’s me. I was the one sailing the ship Doran fell from. And my father doesn’t believe me, but I tried to cut my friend off when a wave hit. It was my fault we crashed, not his.”
“Where is your friend now?” Jairus asked, glancing at Laina before returning his gaze to the table.
“Gone,” she said. “Father won’t say where. He could have been put to death if he’d stayed; I bet he fled.” She realized belatedly how bitter she sounded.
“I’m sorry,” Jairus said. “You should come with us, though. Swick can talk to your father. He’s very persuasive. I think you could use a bit of time away from home.”
Jairus was very perceptive. “I’ll try.” Laina wondered if she could make a deal with her father; perhaps she could agree to join Prince Ronnick for dinner every night until the excursion to Port Emerald. She would even attempt to join him in civil conversation.
“Excellent,” Swick said. “That means we have to educate you straightaway. We cannot afford the burden of traveling with a useless companion.” He winked at Laina. “One of our most important missions will be charting rivers and estimating peak elevations. This forest road will open the way for a new set of prospectors, and knowing which rivers are likely to carry gems from which peaks gives them an immense head start.”
After that, Swick spent the afternoon showing Laina how to read the contour lines on a map of the mountains in Dardensfell, and teaching her how to estimate the height of a peak using angles and distances. Jairus was far more talkative once they delved into the realm of academics. The innkeeper supplied them with drinks and finger food throughout the afternoon, and eventually Swick abandoned his lesson for tales of his travels. Jairus had been with him for five years now, and from the way Swick described it, had more than proved his worth a hundred times over. By the end, Laina was so curious that she could not resist probing more deeply into Jairus’s past.
“What is Varrival like?” she asked. “Why did you choose to leave? There aren’t many Varrilans living north of the borders, are there? The only ones I’ve seen are merchants.”
“That is true,” Jairus said. “We have been a race apart for thousands of years, yet Whitland in its arrogance treats us like disobedient offshoots. We are not received well in Whitland, except when our glass-merchants and architects travel there for the sole purpose of business. There are a good many Varrilans living in Ruunas and Chelt, but not in Whitland.
“I have always wanted to travel and see more of the world. Merchants often come back with stories of lush fields, snowy mountains, and forests so dense they do not let a drop of sunlight to the earth. We have nothing but sand and more sand in Varrival.”
Jairus was clearly warming to his story.
“Varrival has recently begun an attempt to expand its rule. We have no pasturelands in the desert, so aside from the fish and birds and reptiles we can catch amongst the sands, we are heavily reliant on imported food. If we could grow our own bounty, we could prosper as never before. Whitland has little use for its southern plains, so we are attempting to claim some piece of them for our own use.”
Jairus sighed. “I know it would greatly benefit my people, but I wish they could have postponed their attacks. As soon as I heard news of these plans, I decided to leave the country. Once Whitland spreads word of our attacks on their borderlands, Varrilans will have a very difficult time traveling through the Kinship Thrones. I could be arrested on sight if I ran across any Whitish soldier. I must see as much of the world as I can now, before my people become Whitland’s next target.”
Laina winced. “I wish I could help you,” she said. “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
“In the mountains of Dardensfell,” he said at once. “I love traveling down here, but it does not feel like home. There are wonders such as you could never imagine hidden in those vast and uncharted mountains. They are a closely guarded secret of the Dardens, and more beautiful for their wildness.”
“They sound incredible,” Laina said wistfully. Before her brother’s accident, she could have dreamed of seeing those distant lands someday. Now she was tied here, bound to the fate of Lostport.
Jairus nodded. “And I may never see them again. Anyone can pick me out of a crowd in an instant. If Whitland turns against Varrival, I will be forced to slink home. Though even my own home may not be safe against the wrath of Whitland.”
“We could give you refuge here,” Laina said. “Lostport is so distant and insignificant that Whitland constantly overlooks it.”
“And what about my people?” Jairus said. “Should I leave my family to fight a war against Whitland while I sit comfortably in Lostport?”
This time Laina could come up with no suitable response. “I’ll talk to my father,” she offered. “Perhaps he can do something.” It was unlikely, though, and at the same time she couldn’t dismiss the thought that Jairus’s people had brought this on themselves. They had provoked Whitland by attacking the pasturelands; what had they expected in response?
Glancing at the window, Swick’s eyes widened. “Look at that. We’re nearing sunset! My lady, you must return home immediately. I will escort you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ve walked this way a thousand times, and often later at night than this.” She did not add that it was usually in the company of Doran or Conard.
Eventually Swick gave in, and Laina bade him and Jairus farewell.
Night had fallen by the time she reached the top of the stairs, out of breath and sweaty; pausing, she discerned a figure waiting for her in the garden, silhouetted in the light from the hall.
Expecting a reprimand, Laina lowered her head and dropped her skirts to her sides.
Her father greeted her sternly. “Where have you been?”
“In town.”
His shoulders sagged. “I spoke to Doran. He wishes to travel to Chelt to convalesce by the sea. He’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“King Luistan will hear,” Laina said. So far they had kept word of Doran’s accident from spreading, but the secret would be out as soon as he left Lostport. “He’ll know we don’t have an heir.”
Her father sighed. “We need to find you a husband, and soon. Whitland will not sit quietly once we show signs of instability.”
He took her arm and led her into the warmth of the manor.
“On the same note, Laina,” he said sternly, “you should not be wandering about at night, unsupervised. Now that the future of Lostport rests on you, I expect you to exercise a bit of caution.”
“I’ll be safe, I promise,” Laina said. “Just don’t make me marry Prince Ronnick.”
Chapter 5
B y the first evening of his trek south, Conard regretted ever leaving Bogside. Of course he could not return now, though—it would be far too shameful to admit himself incapable of such a straightforward task. At the general store, he had traded every coin to his name along with the less-functional gifts intended for riverboat comfort—the well-weighted candle, the pewter mug, and the intricate spyglass—for as many provisions as he could carry. He did not trust himself to light a fire in the damp, soggy marsh, so he had packed only food that could be eaten cold. That included more stiff wayfarers’ bread and salted meat than he thought he could stomach.
Though it did not provide the sturdiest ground to walk along, Conard stayed close to the river, afraid he would lose his way in one of the infernal mists that could descend without warning at any time of day. He had thought himself skilled at navigation, yet there were no landmarks to gauge distance by apart from the river, and he had failed to find the path the bogsiders had spoken of. Thus his travel was punctuated by the squish of his footsteps through mud and the constant hiss of the river slipping by. By midmorning, his socks were soaked through and his boots caked with so much mud they had doubled in weight. By evening, the water had crept its way past his knees, and Conard was beginning to wonder if he would be swimming in mud before long.
As the last of the light faded to grey, Conard selected a patch of earth that looked sturdier than most and sat on a tufted tussock to dig for his first day’s rations. He would literally be digging before long, he feared—even if he kept himself on a starvation diet, the provisions he’d packed would barely last three quarters. He wished he had brought along a knowledgeable Bogsider who could tell him which roots were edible, and which plants these could be found beneath. He could have easily survived off plants and small game in the woods around Lostport; here he could only rely on fish from the river, none of which were biting.
The Fall of Lostport Page 5
