Trielle pointed. “See where the lighter gray is slanting down near the cloud’s edge? That’s rain.”
I nodded, picking out the diagonal cut across the darker gray of the clouds in the background.
For a moment, the crest of a wave blocked the view and I drew back, focusing on the ocean closer at hand. I gasped. “The waves!”
“Yes,” Bullick said. “They’re almost cresting higher than the deck. Which is why I suggest you stay below.”
“But Trielle said you thought we’d skirt the storm.”
“And so I still think, but that doesn’t mean we won’t see some rough seas. It’s safer if you remain below, just in case.”
As he spoke, the ship tilted up and over one wave and began to descend into the trough behind. I felt the motion in my stomach, the vile taste of vomit again at the back of my throat.
The Defiant slammed into the next wave, fine spray thrown up and over the prow, washing across the deck. Bullick didn’t even turn to look, barely affected by the ship’s motion at all, but deckhands were scrambling through the rigging, already adjusting the sails.
A small frisson of fear coursed through me, cold and electric. I remembered the storm Erick and The Maiden had been caught in, recalled the waves crashing over the deck. Men could be swept overboard.
And I couldn’t swim.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “I’ll wait out the storm below.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
His tone suggested the idea had been all mine, but it was satisfied.
“How much longer until we hook up with Westen and the Prize?” I asked.
“If the storm doesn’t put us too far off course, we’ll reach the port of Temall in another day.”
Then he turned away.
As Trielle and I returned to the open hatchway and the ladder that led below, I caught a glimpse of the other three ships in our group—Tristan’s Reliant, and the two Chorl ships. All three were off to the left, farther away from the storm, and all were beginning to turn toward the coast that could not be seen on the horizon.
“I wonder how they’re faring,” I said, thinking of Catrell. And of Brandan Vard and Tristan.
Trielle snorted. “Better than we are, I’m sure.”
As I descended the ladder, I felt the Defiant change course, heading toward the other three ships.
The rough seas broke a little before dusk, and everyone spilled out from below onto the decks as soon as Bullick gave permission. The initial excitement tinged with fear had quickly worn into a sickening rhythmic monotony as the ship heaved, the single lantern allowed swinging back and forth in the cramped quarters. I’d spent the first few hours with Avrell and Keven, Marielle and Trielle in attendance, discussing the protocol and politics of Venitte, then escaped to Erick’s room where I helped Isaiah try to ease Erick’s pain using the White Fire. The sudden movements and hard rocking of the ship aggravated the prickling needles on Erick’s skin, since he had to be tied down to keep from slipping from his cot. I’d been forced to seize control of Erick’s sweat-soaked body in order to make him eat.
But as soon as the ship calmed, I left Isaiah and Erick and joined everyone else on deck. I sucked in the fresh air, stretched cramped muscles, and only then realized that the close quarters below deck, the tight niches and small boltholes, reminded me of the Dredge and the slums beyond.
“Bullick says we were pushed far enough off course that we won’t reach Temall until late tomorrow,” Avrell said. He and Keven had approached me almost as soon as I emerged from below. “But at least we didn’t lose any of the other ships during the storm.” He nodded to where the three ships surrounded us, one of the Chorl ships just ahead, the Reliant and the second Chorl ship behind. “Bullick seems to be a fair captain.”
I shrugged. “He’s too stiff and formal.”
Avrell grinned. “You’ll find most of the captains stiff and formal, then. Ships require strict discipline.”
“Worse than the palace?”
“Worse than the palace.”
“Hmm.” I made a face that forced Keven to chuckle.
Leaning onto the rail, I stared out at the faint edge of land that could be seen off the port side, gliding by smoothly under the light breeze. Too distant to pick out any details, it appeared more as a gray-green haze trapped between the deep, deep blue of the ocean coursing by beneath us and the lighter blue of the cloudless sky above.
“Here,” someone said, and I turned to find William holding out the strange compact tube that Bullick had used earlier, before the storm. In the cramped quarters of the ship, we’d been forced to see each other on a daily basis—while eating, taking breaks on deck—but William had been cold, had averted his gaze, had mumbled something too low to hear as we passed each other in the narrow corridors. He hadn’t given me the chance to start a conversation with him, let alone try to explain that nothing had happened with Brandan. I’d found his entire attitude irritating and, after the first few days, had avoided him as much as possible.
But now he stood before me, Bullick’s device held out in one hand, a strange pleading expression on his face.
Our eyes met, held for a moment. I realized he was trying to apologize.
And then he dropped his gaze and sighed.
“It’s called a spyglass,” he said. “You can get a better look at the coast from here. Like this.”
He pulled the tube out to its fullest extent, and I could see how the cylinders collapsed into one another. Raising the smallest end to his eye, he peered through it, stepping up beside me at the railing. I felt his shirt brush my arm.
“Mistress,” Avrell said, and with a start I realized he and Keven had stepped back. With a nod, Keven trying to withhold a knowing grin, they wandered away down the deck.
Behind them, I saw Marielle and Trielle watching closely, Marielle leaning in to whisper something in Trielle’s ear. Trielle laughed, the sound light and mischievous, and I frowned, thinking about what Marielle had told me, about what we’d discussed since, about me and William and Brandan, about kissing, about sex.
“Would you like to try?”
I turned back to William, felt my skin burning on the back of my neck as I realized he meant the spyglass and not . . .
“What do I do?” I said, accepting the tube in one hand, my voice short. It was heavier than it looked, and I realized there were lenses at each end, like the lenses on Borund’s glasses, but rounder and thicker.
He hesitated, uncertain. Then: “Hold the small end up to your eye and point it toward whatever you’d like to get a closer look at.”
I did so, pointing the glass toward the land and closing my other eye as I’d seen him do. I frowned. “All I see is a blur of blue.”
“You have to hold it steady. And I think you’re still looking at the ocean. You don’t have it high enough. Here, I’ll help.”
I jumped when he stepped up behind me, so close our bodies touched, and involuntarily pulled the spyglass away from my eye. The heat on my neck crept upward, but then his hands closed over mine, his arm reaching around me, and he pulled the glass higher.
“Ready?” he asked.
His head was next to mine, his mouth close to my ear. I could feel his breath against my neck.
I drew in a long breath. “I guess.”
I didn’t like how strained my voice sounded, but I swallowed and brought the end of the spyglass up to my eye, leaning back into William slightly as I squinted and closed the other eye.
“See anything?”
I couldn’t breathe, let alone see anything. I felt my hands trembling, threw a curse at Marielle for putting vague, alluring thoughts into my head—
And then a swath of green and tan interrupted the blurred field of blue through the glass.
I gasped and my arms tensed as I tried to hold the spyglass steady, all thought of sex, of my annoyance at William’s actions on the wharf, of his curtness on the ship, gone as the green and tan settled down into a length of rocky bea
ch and a fringe of pine trees, appearing so close I almost reached out to try to touch them. The branches of the trees thrashed in the breeze, and waves rushed onto the rocks in a boiling froth of white foam, accompanied incongruously by the sounds of the ship—calls from the men in the rigging, conversations on the deck, the clang of a bell signaling the hour and the constant shush of the ocean sliding by.
The juxtaposition of the noise of the ship against the expected but nonexistent sound of waves crashing onto a beach and wind singing in the trees felt eerie. It sent a shiver down through my spine.
William’s hands dropped away and he stepped back, leaning on the rail beside me. I lowered the spyglass.
“How does it work?”
“The lenses,” he said, then shrugged. “All of the ship captains use them.”
I didn’t remember Mathew, the captain of The Maiden, having one, but I hadn’t spent that much time on board his ship. And what time I had spent aboard his ship had been within the Fire at Erick’s core.
I turned back to the shore, looked at the far shore through the spyglass again. “So what happened at the wharf?”
I felt William stiffen, his presence on the river prickling. “What do you mean?”
I snorted, turned toward him, let some of my anger and irritation seep into my voice. “After that little incident with Brandan, after the tour, you barely came to the palace. You avoided me when I was out in the city, barely acknowledged me on the docks before we left.”
“I was busy. With guild matters.”
“Like hell. What about here on the ship?”
He shifted uncomfortably and I turned away in disgust, brought the spyglass back to my eye, even though I wasn’t focusing on anything, wasn’t even trying.
William straightened, grew still. “It’s Brandan Vard.”
“What about him?”
A short silence. “I don’t trust him. He’s hiding something.”
I almost sighed, disappointed. Because I was speaking to William the merchant now, not the William who had spent hours with me at Erick’s bedside, not the William who had held me when Erick’s condition had driven me to tears. “I know that, William. I just don’t know what it is he’s hiding. What it is that he’s not telling me. Do you?”
“No.”
When I held out the spyglass, he took it reluctantly, staring at it a moment before he met my gaze.
“I just don’t trust him,” he said forcefully, and I could see what he couldn’t say in his expression. “You shouldn’t be dealing with him. You shouldn’t—”
But he cut off abruptly, looked away, frustration and anger tightening his face.
“I have to deal with him,” I said, reaching out to grip his arm. “I’m the Mistress of Amenkor, and he’s a Servant from Venitte, a representative of Lord March.”
That William knew all of this was obvious, but it didn’t help him relax. Because that wasn’t the real issue.
The light began to fade, dusk approaching.
William closed the spyglass and slid it into his pocket, turned.
“Varis,” he began, but then he halted, unable to continue.
Varis, not Mistress.
Before I could say anything, before I had even begun to think, he stepped in close and kissed me.
The touch of his lips shocked me, sent something both warm and cold down into my gut, something both soft and harsh that tingled through the hands I’d raised to his shoulders without thought, something that simultaneously made me want to lean forward, wanting more, while pushing away in uncertainty, because I was still angry with him. Because the kiss was rough and thick and tender at the same time. I could taste it on the river, could taste the frustration, the jealousy, the intensity, like butter and brine combined.
And then it was over, William pulling back. My hands fell to my sides.
Then he was gone, heading back down below deck to his quarters.
I stood in the darkness on the deck, shivering. But not from the chill that the fall of night had brought to the air. I could still smell him in the air—the usual sweat and straw dust, as if he’d just come from a warehouse, now mixed with the salt of the sea.
If I’d been uncertain of his feelings before, even after seeing the drawing he’d done of me in his rooms, after the kiss in the guildhall and the kiss on the dock, he’d made his intentions clear now. Because unlike the first two kisses, he’d initiated this one himself.
I hesitated on the deck of the ship, then descended to my own rooms.
Marielle and Trielle were waiting.
“So?” Marielle said as soon as I entered. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Marielle’s mouth pursed in disappointment. “Maybe you should speak to Brandan more once we reach land. He seems to be a little more focused than William, a little more direct with his interest.”
I caught Trielle’s eye. She watched me with a slightly raised eyebrow.
She didn’t believe me. She knew something had happened, she just didn’t know what.
“Help me with the hammocks,” I said, ignoring them both.
I needn’t have bothered. There are no secrets on a ship, a fact I realized the next day as soon as I came up on deck and saw Avrell glaring at me.
“You could have been a little more discreet,” he said curtly. “At least on the dock at Amenkor it was dark and you were out of general view.”
I bristled instantly. If it hadn’t been Avrell, I would have drawn my dagger. “I didn’t realize that was part of the First’s duties.”
Avrell stiffened. “Everything regarding the Mistress is part of the First’s duties. Especially this!” He caught himself, forced himself to calm, turning out toward the ocean as it slid past, his jaw working. “You are the Mistress. Everything you do affects me, affects Amenkor. Every word spoken, every action taken . . . every kiss.”
“You never seemed that concerned in the palace,” I spat.
“We aren’t in the palace anymore, Mistress,” he answered coldly. “Everything you do is being watched and judged and commented upon now. Everything is being reported to people you haven’t even met.” He motioned toward the Reliant, sailing behind and to the right, close enough I could see the shapes of men on the deck, could pick out Tristan in his captain’s jacket. A spyglass glinted in the sunlight as he lowered it, turning away.
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought Brandan Vard stood at his side.
I thought suddenly of what William had said, that Brandan couldn’t be trusted, and my gut twisted.
“What do they care who I kiss?” I demanded.
“They care because perhaps they can use it against you somehow. We’re headed to Venitte, Mistress, where politics can be deadly. Much more so than in Amenkor. The death and deception begun by Alendor and the merchant’s consortium is nothing compared to what the Lords and Ladies of the Venittian court practice at, what they play at.” He shook his head. “I should have warned you earlier, as soon as the Reliant appeared in our harbor. But I forgot you weren’t raised in the palace, forgot you aren’t—”
“The true Mistress?” I finished scathingly.
“I forgot you aren’t trained to be Mistress,” he said sharply.
We both fell silent, Avrell struggling to control himself while I fumed inside.
Even without the throne, even outside of Amenkor, I was trapped.
“You must always think before you act,” Avrell finally said, his voice calm again. “Out of all the protocols, all of the warnings I’ve given you about Venitte, that is the one lesson you must learn. Someone is always watching. Nothing you do will ever be a secret.”
I didn’t respond, and after a moment Avrell turned and walked away, leaving me alone.
No one else approached all day, Servants, guardsmen, and sailors all giving me a wide berth. At one point, William appeared, started to head across the deck to where I stood at the railing, but Keven intercepted him, escorted him off to one side for a lengthy discus
sion that was mostly one-sided, William frowning through all of it. It must have been a lecture much like the one Avrell had given me, for William glanced toward me, toward the surrounding sailors and shipmates, and finally toward the Reliant.
A few hours before dusk, Captain Bullick announced we would be reaching Temall within the hour. “We have not seen any Chorl ships, but I would still approach Temall cautiously,” he added, and behind him, in the rigging, I could see sailors, unfurling sails. A young crewman flashed flag signals to the other three ships. The Defiant listed beneath my feet, angling to port, toward shore again. We’d sailed out of sight of it, even with a spyglass, the night before.
Within the hour, no Chorl ships in sight, we sailed into the port of Temall, almost everyone crowded into the prow of the ship, myself included, Keven and Avrell to either side, a cold formality creating a wall between me and the First.
I frowned as the Defiant rounded the break. “It’s . . . small.”
The port contained a single wharf with three docks stretching out from a rocky shore and only two other ships in evidence, a trader half the size of Bullick’s at the dock and the Prize anchored in the bay. A few buildings—warehouses, a tavern or two, a scattering of small fishing houses not much more than huts—surrounded the wharf. A road led up a hill through a slightly denser clustering of houses, then to the gates of the outer wall.
I’d seen Temall once before, through Westen’s eyes, had known that it was a small port, but seeing it in person . . .
“Amenkor is three times as large,” I added.
Avrell nodded, his attention on the people gathered on the wharf. “But at the moment, Temall is much more significant. It’s the buffer between us and the Chorl. Because of that, we cannot afford to alienate Lord Pyre. We need him as an ally.” His eyes narrowed. “I believe there’s someone here to meet us.”
I scanned those on the pier as Bullick brought the ship slowly in to dock, saw Westen and a small group from the scouting party—
And with them, Lord Justaen Pyre, with a large entourage of guardsmen.
My hand fell to my dagger. Suddenly, having Avrell at my side felt reassuring, rather than constraining.
The Vacant Throne Page 20
