The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  “All of his ships are carefully inspected and documented, right?” Conard said. “Do you want me to slip around the Whitish guard with my own ship?”

  “No!” Laina grabbed Conard’s hands again, suddenly frightened. “It’s far too dangerous. You can’t leave. Not when you’ve barely returned.” With a great effort, she relaxed back against the stones rimming the hot pool. “No, I want to discourage my father’s plans. He thinks he can use the wealth from Port Emerald to help Whitland win its war against Varrival, and from that purchase Lostport’s independence.”

  “That’s mad,” Conard said. “Sorry, but Whitland would never agree to that.”

  Laina shrugged. “Remember how Harrow used to be an ambassador for Whitland? He thinks Whitland is just desperate enough to take Father’s offer seriously. And Father trusts Harrow.”

  “Why do you want to stop them?” Conard asked. “Honestly, I would sail around the world for you if I could. Don’t you want to keep Lostport safe?”

  Laina bit her lip. “Not at the price of Varrival. I’ve met a few architects from Varrival, and a cartographer, and they think Whitland is out to destroy their land completely. One person isn’t worth the lives of an entire kingdom.” When Conard reached up to straighten a lock of her hair, she smiled faintly. “Besides, you just spent spans trying to get back to Lostport. Are you really so eager to leave again?”

  Conard moved closer to Laina, until their shoulders were pressed together, creating a band of warmth against the chill night air. “I just want you to be happy again,” he said. “If that means ensuring your father’s scheme fails, I can do that.”

  “I am happy now,” Laina said, meeting Conard’s eyes with an unblinking gaze. She still could not believe he had returned.

  “Remember when we found this place?” Conard said suddenly. The corner of his mouth was twitching. “It started raining, and I convinced you that we would be warmer if we took most of our clothes off and sat in the water.”

  “Sneaky little bastard.”

  “Well, I was right.”

  Laina grinned. “Then you told me to close my eyes. And I waited there forever and ever, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling stupid, because you were a complete wimp.”

  Conard laughed softly. “Any chance you’d like to replace that memory with something better?” He tightened his grip on Laina’s hands. “Close your eyes.”

  Laina’s heart was beating so loudly she was afraid Conard would hear. She did as he asked, trusting her weight to the water-slicked rocks. The chorus of cicadas and frogs rose louder than ever, masking any sound of movement that Conard made as he broke the stillness of the water.

  Then she felt a warm pressure on her lips. Her own lips parted, and she leaned into Conard’s kiss, tasting spices and honey on his tongue. He knelt before her, knees to either side of her own, body warm against hers. She reached up and dug her fingers through his hair, assuring herself that he was truly, truly there.

  At last Conard released her. Only reluctantly did Laina relinquish her hold on him, and she opened her eyes in time to see him retreat hastily to the opposite side of the pool.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I do,” Laina whispered. She floated toward him and reached around his neck. Raising herself into Conard’s lap, she kissed him again, this time soft as a whisper. “I want it, too.”

  Conard stroked her hair. “Sweet seducer, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this.”

  Laina leaned against his chest, relishing his warmth and substantiality. “We have to tread carefully. Lostport’s fate is sitting on a knife-edge right now. Any hint of scandal could mean its ruin.”

  “We’ll run off,” Conard said. “The gypsies I’ve been living with have traveled all over the Kinship Thrones; I’m sure they can introduce us to a few friends of theirs.”

  Laina tightened her arms around Conard. “I wish we could. But…you know how much Lostport means to me. I can’t just abandon it. It is my duty to carry on my father’s rule, and I would trust this land to no one else.”

  Conard kissed Laina’s forehead. “In that case, I suppose we might just have to put our best efforts toward sabotaging the Port Emerald construction. How far along are they, anyway?’

  “You haven’t seen it yet?” Laina sat up and looked at Conard in surprise.

  He grinned. “I just arrived at the midway camp earlier today. I told you what I was doing this morning, remember?”

  Laina shook her head.

  “Sneaking up that path behind your manor and looking to see if you were in your bedroom.”

  Laina giggled. “Of course. Well, go see the port before you start trying to wreck it. The place is fantastic. I’ll look for you at the gypsy’s camp when I next get the chance to ride there. Jairus and Swick—the two cartographers—will be there as well, and we can discuss our plans together.”

  “Is there any chance I could look for you earlier?” Conard asked slyly.

  “No.” Laina softened the denial with a hand against his cheek. “My father might actually kill you if he sees you again. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Speaking of your father,” Conard said, “you ought to be getting home. I can accompany you partway, if you would like.”

  Laina wanted to spare Conard the trouble, but she had not forgotten her fear of riding the long, dark forest road alone. “I would love that.”

  As they stepped from the hot pools, steam rising from their skin, Conard threw a cloak around Laina’s shoulders. She stood dripping as he fetched her dress and stepped into his boots, and then they picked their way back down the waterfall.

  “I wish we could just stay here forever,” Conard said when they reached the forest road.

  Laina untied Feather’s reins and guided the horse into pace behind her. “So do I.”

  * * *

  After walking Laina partway back to Lostport and then turning back to face a third weary trek along the forest road, Conard was nearly asleep on his feet by the time he stumbled into the gypsy camp. For the first stretch of the return journey, he had been worrying that his lantern would run out of oil and leave him stranded in the dark. Then exhaustion had overwhelmed him, and he had been unable to think of anything at all.

  He was not even sure he recognized the tents in the darkness. Wending his way back toward the farthest reaches of the camp, he tried desperately to pick up some mark he recognized. Everything was so still. The fires had burned themselves to ash, and even the cicadas had ceased their chirruping. At last his lantern fell across the familiar peacock banner. Conard pried the flap of the closest tent free from its bindings, fell to his knees, and extinguished his lamp.

  “Conard?”

  It was Grandfather’s voice.

  “Is that you? We were taking bets on whether you’d made a run for it.”

  Conard grunted.

  “Where have you been, then? Still searching for your princess?”

  “Found her,” he muttered. “Then I gave her up again.”

  Grandfather said something in reply, but Conard was asleep before he could register the words. He had not even removed his boots.

  Chapter 11

  I n five minutes, I swear I will go out after her,” Faolan said darkly.

  “My lord, you’ve been saying that all night.” Harrow gave Faolan’s shoulder a squeeze. “Bring the cartographers in for questioning, if you must. I suspect Laina has merely gone for a brief ride down the forest road.”

  “Which she ought not to do!” Faolan surged to his feet and stomped down the hall to the front doors. Opening one a crack, he poked his nose into the fragrant night air and strained to see what wasn’t there. “If she intended to stay out all night, she should damn well have told someone,” he muttered. “And those blasted cartographers hardly count. More trouble than they’re worth, the lot of them.”

  Harrow joined Faolan at the doorway. “Laina is a grown woman. Before Doran’s accident, you used
to trust her judgment. She can look after herself.”

  Faolan whirled on him. “And that was a mistake!” He wanted to shake Harrow, to burn down the town until someone could provide him with proper answers. Laina had been away since early this morning; when she had vanished into the stables, he had blithely assumed she wished to visit town once again.

  He should have known better. This was Laina, after all. Sometimes Faolan could not understand how a daughter of his could have gone so badly astray. She had been far too spoiled as a child, and now rules meant nothing to her.

  But what if something truly had gone wrong? What if one among the hordes of untrustworthy Whitish men had decided she would make an easy target, and had dragged her into the woods to have his way with her? The possibility was too dangerous to ignore.

  “That does it,” he said. “We have to go after her.”

  “And if she is in town?” Harrow said.

  “We’ll wake the cartographers and demand answers from them. If she is not with them, she must be on the road. Or—”

  Grabbing his coat from the nearby chair, Faolan kicked the doors wide and strode onto the moon-washed lawn. A dark ribbon of clouds was churning across the sky; the starry veil of midnight blue was quickly turning to black.

  “Oh, if she gets caught out in this—”

  “She’ll get wet, my lord,” Harrow said firmly. “She can survive a little rain.”

  Just as they came to the end of the lawn, Faolan caught sight of a horse with a dark figure on its back making its way slowly up the winding path. Faolan could barely restrain himself from shouting to Laina; he could not decide whether he was furious or relieved.

  With a soft clip-clop of hooves, Laina rode to the end of the road and pulled up her reins just before Faolan.

  He reached for his daughter’s hand and grasped it fiercely, reassuring himself that she was truly there. Her brown hair glistened in the moonlight, wet and bedraggled, and she wore a cloak Faolan had never seen before.

  “Where have you been?” The words came out in a hoarse whisper. “Why did you not come home?”

  “I’m home now, Father.” Laina looked down, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I was—detained.”

  Faolan nodded brusquely. Why was her hair wet? “Is it already raining down in the woods?”

  “What?” Laina must have caught the direction of his gaze, because she tugged a finger through a sodden strand of hair. “Oh, not really, but I was caught in a—a brief shower.”

  Faolan nodded. “Come inside.” He did not believe her.

  “I must return home,” Harrow said quickly. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Thank you for waiting with me,” Faolan said.

  With a brusque nod, Harrow turned and started hurriedly down the winding road. His grand home was halfway between the town and the royal manor; Faolan hoped he would be able to reach shelter before the storm hit.

  “I thought you had more sense than this,” Faolan said as Laina dismounted. He took the reins and led the beast sharply toward the stable. “Time and time again, you convince me to trust you, yet in every instance you prove my faith misguided. Must I lock you in a cage?”

  Laina hunched her shoulders defensively, hugging the cloak tighter than ever about her shoulders. “Father, I was just going for a ride. Nothing happened to me. I was careful.”

  He wrenched open the stable doors. “So careful that you could not manage to return before nightfall?” He handed the horse over to the drowsy stable-hand and turned back to Laina, arms folded. “I have decided to revoke your privileges of leaving the house,” he said. “If your friends wish to visit you, they may join us at the manor.”

  “Father! I can’t just sit inside! I’ll go mad.”

  “It is high time you learned to tolerate responsibility,” Faolan said sternly. “Most kings and queens must attend their official business at all times. If they go outside their royal homes, it is merely for the sake of putting on a public show. Would you like that? I could marry you off to Prince Ronnick and send the pair of you to Whitland, to experience the true royal lifestyle. Trust me, it would not be to your liking.”

  “You would never do that,” Laina said. “You need me to carry on your rule.”

  Faolan shrugged. “I am not convinced you would be suitable for the task.”

  “You’re lying,” Laina said fiercely. “You hate Whitland as much as I do! Why are you getting tangled up with them? First the port, then stupid Prince Ronnick, and now the war against Varrival. How can you do that? Whitland is our enemy! It always has been!”

  “I would not use such a strong word,” Faolan said. “We depend on them, after all.”

  They had reached the manor doors, one of which had shut of its own accord. When Faolan pulled it open once again, he felt the wind working against him. Just as he ushered Laina and her guards into the hall, Faolan felt the first blast of raindrops.

  “You’re trying to distract me,” Faolan said abruptly, cutting off whatever Laina had just opened her mouth to say. “Whitland aside, you have endangered yourself more times than I am willing to allow. You will be confined to the house until I say otherwise.”

  * * *

  When Laina woke the next morning, she was not sure whether she had dreamed the whole previous night. Conard could not have truly met her in the forest, could he? He was still far away—dead or in hiding, she did not know which.

  Yawning hugely, she sat up and squinted about her room, which was grey in the early morning light. Raindrops were still pattering gently away at the roof.

  There, draped over her chair, was the cloak Conard had given her. It had not been a dream.

  Opening her door to go down to breakfast, Laina stopped short. Her brother’s two guards were stationed outside her door, arms folded, expressions unusually stern.

  “We’re under orders,” Nort said. “We’re not to let you out of our sight until he dismisses us. That means you can’t run off anywhere.”

  “Also means we’re to watch you sleep,” Barrik said with a sly grin. “Technically.”

  Laina scowled. “Leave me alone. At least the weather is rotten.”

  “Makes it almost a treat to stay indoors,” Nort said, nodding.

  “I’m going to see my father,” Laina said. “Surely you don’t have to follow me to his office?”

  “Orders is orders, miss,” Barrik said.

  Stopping outside her father’s office—it was empty—Laina felt again the ghost of Conard’s kiss, his lips soft against hers. As irksome as her brother’s guards were, seeing Conard again had been worth the trouble.

  The hall was empty, but a hum of voices came from the dining room. When she pushed back the doors, Nort and Barrik at her back, a tumult of movement and noise assaulted her. No fewer than fifty people were crammed in the room, none familiar aside from her father.

  Laina turned to leave, but her brother’s guards blocked the way. Straightening, her father beckoned her over. She got a good look at the men as she pushed her way through the crowd; they had to be laborers and architects, though Laina could not guess what they were doing in the royal manor, nor what had upset them.

  Settling in the chair beside her father, Laina said in a low voice, “What’s going on? These men look like they’re about to attack you, Father! Where’s Harrow?”

  “One question at a time, love,” he said, his voice hoarse. “These people say they just arrived this morning, off a rivership from Dardensfell, to find that the shelter and supplies they had allegedly been promised were nowhere to be found. And, of course, the rain is coming down in torrents.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Right now I’m attempting to convince them not to raid my house. I just sent for Harrow.”

  Frowning, Laina stared at the men, who were jostling one another to approach her father. “You need to hire guards to secure our house,” she said grimly. “I bet most of these laborers are acting unde
r orders from Whitland, which could override any of your own.”

  “Where am I meant to find guards?” her father grumbled. “I don’t trust anyone loitering about here!”

  At last a giant of a man succeeded in shoving Nort and Barrik out of the way. Striding to the head of the table, he confronted Laina’s father with his bare, heavily-muscled arms crossed.

  “You summoned us here!” he barked. “We were promised food and lodging, in exchange for our labor. If you don’t provide us with something to eat, we’ll ransack your house.”

  Laina’s father glanced at her and sighed. “How many more ships are coming south?”

  “How should we know?” the man said. His voice was still loud and confrontational. “We just boarded our own ship—under false pretenses!”

  Her father nodded. “I apologize. There has clearly been a miscommunication. It is building supplies and provisions we are short on, not hands. We will provide for you as best we can, but I can do nothing to stop whatever false rumors are spurring everyone to flood into Lostport.”

  “They told us of unimaginable riches!” a short, scrawny man interjected. “Jewels larger than a man’s fist.”

  “Those stories were true,” Laina’s father said. “But the jewels can only be harvested after the city is completed, in a year’s time. And besides, we live at the edge of civilization. Food and supplies take many quarters to arrive here, and in the meantime, what good are jewels?”

  “Do you want your house raided?” the big man yelled.

  “No!” her father got stiffly to his feet and raised his hands in a gesture that was meant to calm the frenzied crowd. “Please listen.”

  The big man turned and hollered, “Shut up!”

  Almost at once, the crowd fell silent.

  Laina’s father took a breath. “I will provide breakfast for the lot of you, if you can act civilly while in my home. However, I will also contact the architects about relocating you to the Port Emerald construction site as quickly as possible. There are provisions there, and if our imported supplies are not sufficient, you will have to learn to forage or fish as well.”