Firebirds Soaring

by Sharyn November

  The princess took one look at the unwelcome addition, assumed her grandest court manners, and took over the conversation. She displayed a broad knowledge of Sartoran plays, Colendi music, and various styles of art and poetry, all of which the boys were familiar with—leaving Risa with absolutely nothing to say.

  Risa was still fuming at noon the next day when the princess emerged from her leisurely sleep. She wore a silk gown with its loops and loops of draped lace, trod gracefully on deck, and looked around for the boys.

  She called up to them where they were working on the foretop-sail yard, but the wind—brisk and clean, sending the Petal skimming over the playful blue-green waves—snapped her words away, and they did not appear to hear.

  Risa held her breath—and the princess, balked of her prey, began to climb up the shrouding, the wind tugging at her skirts, which she kept leaning out to bat down. Halfway up she stopped and called plaintively for help. And—being only boys, Risa thought in disgust—Nad and Raec abandoned their duty, scrambled to the end of the yard, and began shouting instructions to her, both reaching down to pull her up when she’d crept close enough.

  On the yard she clung to them as they pointed out various parts of the ship.

  Risa, at the wheel, scarcely glanced at the sea or the sails. She could feel the ship’s balance against the wind in her feet and up through her bones. She glared up at those three figures until the boys swung down—showing off rather than climbing down. So, of course, guess who had to swing down, too, but only after a lot of coaxing and making certain everyone’s attention was on her? She tiptoed to the edge of the masthead and swung out, the wind blowing through her loosened hair and flagging her skirts.

  Risa gave the wheel a quick yank, the rudder surged against the water, and the Petal lurched, causing the princess to swing wide.

  Risa grinned as Jasalan kicked wildly, her skirts a froth of white as she squawked and screeched, all airs and graces forgotten. Another flick of the helm and she swung back and dropped with a splat onto the deck.

  The boys rushed to her. Everyone rushed to her, though some of the crew were not exactly hiding grins.

  But as soon as Raec had made sure she was fine (of course she was fine!) he lifted his head and sent a long, inscrutable look up at Risa, whose triumph doused like a candle flame in rain.

  The princess wavered to her feet, hand to her brow as she clung to Nadav’s hand. In disgust, Risa turned her gaze away at last, to discover her grandmother mounting slowly to the captain’s deck.

  “That was not well done,” Granny said.

  Risa flushed. “I don’t care.”

  But of course she did—they both knew that.

  Before Granny could retort, the lookout (who had been watching the drama on deck instead of the horizon) gave an excited shout: “Four sail, hull up, directly astern!”

  Everyone not on duty ran up to the captain’s deck and gazed at the four very tall ships riding the wind toward them.

  Granny, staring through her glass, frowned. “Warships. Rigged as Adrani. Could they be chasing us?”

  Both she and Risa thought first of the cargo, but their smuggling days were long over. Then their eyes turned to the princess, who stood between Nadav and Raec, looking disheveled and scared.

  “Uh-oh,” Risa muttered.

  Granny might have outrun them, despite the advantage of this wind for heavier ships. But she did not give the word, to the surprise of her crew—who felt they owed nothing to the Adranis.

  And so they spilled their wind and hove to.

  A naval party rowed over, the oars working in strict precision. The fact that the Petal’s command was not summoned to the flagship meant, to those who knew the ways of the sea, that someone was aware of a delicate question of diplomacy at higher levels.

  First up was the Adrani captain. A short, round woman of about fifty years, her face sun seamed, she swept her gaze once over the orderly deck and everyone on it. Behind came six sailors in neat blue tunics and white deck trousers—and last, a civilian, tall, with red hair—

  Jasalan stalked forward. “Lored, how dare you!”

  Lored pointed a finger at Nadav. “That’s the pirate Black Hand. He said so himself.” The finger picked out Raec. “So that one must be Blood Gut.”

  For a moment there was no sound except for the creaking of the masts and the gentle tap of blocks overhead as the ship rocked on the water. Then Jasalan gasped—and Risa could not hold in her laughter.

  At her first whoop, the entire crew roared in mirth.

  Nadav leaned across Jasalan and said in Remalnan, “Prince Blood Gut. You are never going to live this one down.”

  “I’ll get you for that,” Raec returned.

  The Adrani captain surveyed the angry princess—who did not look the least like she’d been abducted against her will—the sullen Lord Alored, the wooden-faced pair of young men (who, if it was true about their defeating an entire party, had apparently not killed a one), and the crew. She knew pirates, and this was not a pirate ship.

  But the forms had to be observed. So she demanded to see their trade manifest, which Granny respectfully supplied, then she sent an inspection crew into the hold.

  Meanwhile, she said, “Are you Princess Jasalan?”

  “I am.” Hands on hips, and another foot stomp.

  “Are you on this vessel against your will?”

  “I am not. I was invited by Prince Alaraec.” She pointed between the two, stealing a peek from under her lashes at Nadav. Now is the time to reveal your disguise.

  But Nadav just bowed with courtly grace.

  Raec said, “I fear I haven’t any proof of who I am. Never been asked before. But if you care to sail with us to Remalna, I will get my parents to speak for me.”

  The inspection crew reappeared, the lieutenant gave his head a single shake, and the captain made her decision. “We will each continue on our courses.” And to Lored, “Which will include having to explain to the admiral why I had to pull four ships off patrol on a purposeless chase.”

  Lored paled. His mother, the duchess, would be even more fluent about that than the former king.

  Raec then spoke up. “Why don’t you come along, too? You might like Remalna. If not, you can at least tell stories on us when you get back home.”

  Jasalan had twined her hands firmly around his arm. She turned her prettiest pout on him. “But isn’t it my party?”

  Raec said kindly, “My parents like meeting people from other countries. Say it makes for better relations in the future.”

  Lored was going to refuse but reflected on what sort of reaction he’d get if he went home now. Meanwhile, if this really was a prince, surely there were beautiful noblewomen in Remalna.

  Taking no notice of Jasalan, who was shaking her head at him, he said to Raec, “Permit me to fetch my manservant and my gear, and I will return. Thank you.” He bowed, adding, “And I beg your pardon for my error.”

  Raec smiled, making a rueful gesture. “It’s all right. I thought I was doing the right thing to make this visit without all the usual trappings, but I think I’ve discovered why the trappings are occasionally useful.” He opened his hands, bowing first to Lored and then to the Adrani captain. “I apologize for causing all this tumult.”

  There was nothing left but mutual civilities and departure; by sundown the Adrani ships were lost beyond the horizon, and the deck resounded to the noise of three young men, as (at Lored’s request) Nadav and Raec demonstrated some of the training they’d gotten during their years at one of the best military academies in the world.

  Risa kept her distance, going down to the wardroom to eat alone when her watch was finished. Just as she sat down, Jasalan emerged from her cabin, this time in a beautiful gown of embroidered velvet that belonged in a ballroom. Not, Risa thought, eyeing that low-cut neckline, that the boys would mind.

  Jasalan did not flounce by as usual. She paused. “You did that on purpose.”

  Risa could not preve
nt a flush. “Yes.” And, “I apologize.”

  Jasalan made a scornful gesture. “Save your breath. I know you don’t mean it.”

  “No. Not any more than you mean all that rot you keep spouting at Raec about how you think alike. But I guess the forms must be gone through. By me, to keep the peace on this ship; by you, fishing for a crown.”

  It was Jasalan’s turn to blush. “I’ve seen how you keep watching him,” she said scornfully. “Do you really think he’d give up a crown to sail on an old fishing boat?” She snapped open her fan, holding it at an aggressive angle. “Or, if you were dreaming of becoming a fisher-queen, do you think you’d last a single day in a royal court?”

  “I have no intention of ever setting foot in a royal court,” Risa said.

  “That’s quite wise.” Jasalan rustled her way up onto deck, where her fluting laugh could soon be heard, but this time Risa did not follow.

  Risa stayed below when, at last, they sailed into Smuggler’s Cove on the midnight tidal flow. Nadav searched her out, kissed her hand in the grand manner, and thanked her for making their journey so pleasant; then he leaped to the deck and ran uphill to rouse up the stable and arrange for travel, as Raec stayed with his guests.

  Risa did not want to see them depart. She found work to do belowdecks. So she was surprised by a quiet, familiar step behind her; she whirled, and there was Raec, holding a golden medallion on his palm. He said, “I want you to know how much I enjoyed the journey, mostly because I got a chance to meet you. I hope—I want—” He frowned at the deck, and then reached for her hand and pressed the medallion into it. “That’s my emergency transfer token. In case I got myself into trouble I couldn’t get out of. It transfers to the family part of Athanarel. The royal palace. Ah, if you’d ever like to see where I live—meet my family—please use it. All you do is say my entire name, with this on your palm, and the magic will work.”

  She struggled to find words, but the conflict within her was too strong, so she just said, “Thank you.”

  He made a curious ducking sort of bow, reached again, but when she closed her fingers over the token and dropped her hand to her side, he backed away, and shortly thereafter she heard his quick step on the deck overhead, and then he was gone.

  When she came up on deck, the crew was just finishing coiling down the last lines, and some were departing on leave, gear bags over their shoulders, lanterns swinging in their hands.

  “I’ll stay, if you want to negotiate the cargo,” Risa said.

  “What’s that in your fist?” Granny asked.

  Risa had been holding the token in a tight grip. She snorted. “An invitation to make a fool of myself in his palace. As if I’d do that.”

  Her heart constricted, and with a violent motion she flung the token over the rail into the darkness, where they heard it plunk into the sea.

  Granny said, “Once upon a time there was a prince in my life. He made a similar invitation to me. But I was too proud to accept it. And so . . . and so time passed, and he married a princess. An excellent woman, I hear. And I, though eventually I had a family, I ended up married to my ship. An excellent ship, as you see.”

  Risa regarded her grandmother in the light of the lamp on her table. They were alone now, the soft air still except for the distant cry of night birds.

  Risa muttered, “He’ll marry that girl. She knows all the tricks to make sure of it.”

  “Didn’t you hear him turn the courtship into a general party when he invited Lord Alored along? ” Granny chuckled. “See if that young redhead isn’t ‘in love’ with Nadav Savona’s pretty sister within the span of two days.”

  “Oh, Granny, even if he doesn’t marry her, where would that leave me? If we did decide we—oh, I can’t even say it. I won’t give up the sea, and he shouldn’t give up being king, not with all that training. And I couldn’t bear a court filled with Jasalans.”

  “There are all kinds of compromises people make,” Granny said. “Who says you’d have to live in a palace all year round? For that matter, who says their court is filled with Jasalans? Don’t you know what they once called the present queen? The Barefoot Countess. Still do. And she apparently likes it. I asked young Raec. He says she still runs around barefoot up in the mountains.”

  Risa groaned. “But we hardly know one another.”

  “Isn’t that why he invited you to visit? ” Granny asked with her customary astringency. “Or are you going to relive my mistake, because you insist on seeing titles instead of human beings? Did I really raise you that badly?”

  “No,” Risa admitted. “But it’s a world I don’t know. I’ll make horrible mistakes.”

  “Mistakes in manners can be survived. I refused to see that. I was too cowardly to try.” Granny paused. “If you do choose to go, you can carry a story. It might not be the time yet to tell it, but someday it should be told,” Granny said, and moved to the rail, where she stared off toward the twinkling lights of the village as they were lit one by one. “It’s not a happy story. But it is, perhaps, an important one.”

  Risa swallowed hard in her aching throat.

  “There was once a young, romantic prince we will call Lark. He wanted to do something heroic, and he heard about pirate problems ruining his country’s trade, so he joined a crew, lying about his experience. After all, he’d been trained in dueling the way nobles do, and ship work is easy to pick up, right? So there came a pirate attack in the night. This pirate crew used to sneak half the crew through the water and climb up to the deck to take a ship. So Lark rallied his friends, courageously leading them (like a prince should) in a charge on the pirates coming over the rail—when arrows hissed through the darkness from the pirate ship. One struck Lark in the hip, another my cousin in the shoulder. The other five of his friends, including my little brother, were all struck in the heart and died. Lark and my cousin fought on with the rest of us through the night, which made healing very difficult when at last we drove them off and could tend the wounded.”

  Risa winced.

  “Lark had not known anything about arrows, or about how pirates fight. So—though he had courage, though he meant only the best—he led his band straight into danger and death. He soon learned, and kept learning, and kept learning, until he became a formidable captain in his own right, but he never forgave himself for his actions of that night. I hear he still lives with the result of that wound, though he could afford the magic healers to fix it. He made sure his son was trained not to make the same”—Granny made a fist, bringing it down to the rail—“what I would call a horrible mistake.”

  Risa let out her breath.

  Granny moved slowly to her cabin and shut the door, leaving Risa standing at the rail, staring out.

  She was still there when dawn began to blue the air, and a warm peachy color lit up the core. Then she dove off the rail, swimming down to the slanting sea floor, and the faint gleam of gold.

  SHERWOOD SMITH is the author of Crown Duel and Court Duel (published in one volume by Firebird as Crown Duel), three books about the intrepid Wren (Wren to the Rescue, Wren’s Quest, and Wren’s War), and a trilogy set in the Crown Duel world: Inda, The Fox, and King’s Shield.

  Smith began making books out of taped paper towels when she was six years old. When she was eight, she started writing about another world, though she soon switched to making comic books of her stories, which she found to be easier. Smith went to college, lived in Europe, came back to the United States to get her master’s in history, worked in Hollywood, got married, started a family, and became a teacher. Now retired, she writes full-time.

  Her Web site is www.sherwoodsmith.net.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  “Court Ship” was written for fans of Crown Duel, who wondered about the second generation after that story. It also answers some questions about events previous to that story.

  Jane Yolen and Adam Stemple

  LITTLE RED

  Seven years of bad luck. That’s what I think as I drag the pie
ce of broken mirror over my forearm. Just to the right of a long blue vein, tracing the thin scars that came before.

  There’s no pain. That’s all on the inside. It won’t come out, no matter how much I bleed. No pain. But for a moment . . .

  Relief.

  For a moment.

  Until Mr. L calls me again. “Hey, you, Little Red, come here.”

  Calls me. Not any of the other girls. Maybe it’s because he likes my stubby red hair. Likes to twist his stubby old man fingers in it. And I can’t tell him no.

  “You want to go back home?” he asks. “Back to your grandmother’s? Back to the old sewing lady?” He’s read my file. He knows what I will say.

  “No. Even you are better than that.” Then I don’t say anything else. I just go away for a bit in my mind and leave him my body.

  The forest is dark but I know the way. I have been here before. There is a path soon, pebbly and worn. But my fingers and toes are like needles and pins. If I stay here, stray here too long, will I become one of them forever?

  It’s morning now, and I’m back, looking for something sharp. Orderlies have cleaned up the mirror; I think Mr. L found the piece I had hidden under the mattress. It doesn’t matter—I can always find something. Paper clips stolen from the office, plastic silverware cracked just right, even a ragged fingernail can break the skin if you have the courage.

  Alby faces the wall and traces imaginary coastlines on the white cement. She is dark and elfin, her hair shorn brutally close to her scalp except for one long tress that hangs behind her left ear. “Why do you wind him up like that?”

  “Wind up who?” My voice is rough with disuse. Is it the next morning? Or have days passed? “And how?”

  “Mr. L. The things you say to him . . .” Shuddering, Alby looks more wet terrier than girl. “If you’d just walk the line, I’m sure he’d leave you alone.”

  Having no memory of speaking to Mr. L at all, I just shrug. “Walk the line. Walk the path. What’s the difference?”