The Vacant Throne

by Joshua Palmatier

  That’s . . . good. I didn’t understand half of what she’d said. Even after spending time on Bullick’s ship, I didn’t understand half of what the crew said either.

  Eryn shook her head in amusement. It is good. It means that we can produce ships faster than anyone on the coast. Borund has three ships already under construction. They should be finished by winter.

  I don’t think the Chorl are going to give us that much time, I said.

  Some of Eryn’s satisfaction faded, and through that I could feel weariness.

  And pain.

  I need to speak to Westen, I said, gathering myself for the Reach back to my own body.

  Eryn heard the intent in my voice. She straightened slightly, her tone stern. Listen to Avrell, Varis. He knows more about Venitte and their politics than I do. He’s been there, seen it firsthand.

  I leaped out of the Fire, sending her a last surge of reassurance. Her shoulders sagged as I sped out up into the fury of the afternoon thunderstorm, the river in turmoil around me, but I could feel the pull of the Fire inside me, could feel the tethers that Marielle and Heddan had used to give me additional strength, and so I fought through the storm, passing out of the cold, dark clouds and veering southward over open ocean. Fire blazed white and frigid on the horizon ahead.

  We’d departed Temall that night, once everyone had boarded or been ferried to their respective ships, including the Prize. There were now five ships in the group—three of the Chorl ships, the Defiant, and Tristan’s Reliant. But we were entering the sea-lane between the Boreaite Isles and Bosun’s Bay controlled by the Chorl. Bullick hoped that the number of ships in the group would discourage the Chorl from attacking, but at the same time it made us easier to spot and we were hoping to slip through unnoticed.

  Catrell had suggested traveling only at night, hiding close to shore during the day, but Avrell said we needed to get to Venitte as fast as possible. The city needed to be warned, and the more time they had to prepare for the Chorl, the better.

  After what they’d done to Amenkor, I’d agreed.

  And then there was Erick and his condition to consider.

  Before diving down into the Fire that blazed on the deck of the Prize, I did a quick scan of the ocean, saw nothing but the scattered formation of our own ships, the Reliant keeping close but with a visible separation between it and the Defiant. Then I settled into the Fire inside Westen.

  What happened?

  Westen didn’t react at all. Not a muscle moved in his stance at the prow of the ship, the wind from the ship’s passage full in his face. He held the lock of his wife’s hair in one hand, the honeysuckle she’d twined with it now looking limp. I’d given it to him on the dock, before he boarded the Prize.

  Nothing, he said. Lord Pyre kept us confined to the keep after we helped defend the gate against the Chorl. Not prisoners, but our movements were restricted. He smiled thinly. Or as restricted as a Seeker’s movements can be made. When you reported you were headed for Temall, I told him everything—the attack on Amenkor, our defenses, the destruction of the throne. I thought that once he knew, once he realized we were no threat, then he’d release us.

  Instead, he kept us under tighter control.

  Did you find out anything more about Baill? About this Band?

  Westen shook his head, frowning. I saw them once more from the walls. They appeared out of the forest and took the road heading southward. It looked as if they were on the move. They had two wagons loaded down with supplies. A good-sized force. More than the hundred that joined the battle at the gates.

  Justaen says the force has been growing.

  I grunted. The anger Baill’s name brought forth was instant and harsh, but from all accounts he seemed to be helping Temall defend against the Chorl. Which didn’t make any sense.

  I don’t trust him, I said.

  Neither do I. The cold hardness that stilled Westen as he said this made me shudder. But he’s out of reach for now. And Justaen has made his choice. Focus on Venitte.

  I withdrew from Westen, surged across the sun-glittering ocean to the Fire inside myself, and heaved a heavy sigh, weariness falling over me like a blanket. The trembling in my arms started immediately, and I sank back into the wooden folding chair I’d been sitting in as Heddan withdrew her conduit. Marielle held hers a moment longer, passing along more of her strength, and I smiled thinly in appreciation before waving weakly for her to release it. She did so reluctantly, motioning Heddan toward the waiting pitcher of tea, sun-steeped earlier on the deck of the ship.

  “Amenkor?” Marielle asked, holding the cup that Heddan handed her to my lips so I could drink.

  “Fine.”

  “And Eryn?”

  I turned to where Avrell stood anxiously in the doorway. I hadn’t noticed him as I skimmed across the water and into the ship, and I should have.

  “Also fine,” I said.

  He heard what I did not say: that she was no better. For a moment, he seemed lost, the focus in his eyes internal, and strangely exposed. As if the facade had been lifted, what lay hidden behind revealed.

  Then he returned, straightening where he stood. “Very well.”

  I drew breath as he turned to leave, not knowing what I could say, but he was already gone.

  Marielle’s expression as I settled back down was stretched tight with sadness. “We should get you up on deck,” she said briskly, her tone a little forced.

  “No,” I protested.

  “Don’t,” she warned with a glare, already bustling around, shoving items into Heddan’s hands to carry up to the deck. “The sea air will work better than the tea at reviving you.”

  After a half hour on deck, Marielle planting the folding chair front and center on the foredeck so that I could see the whitecaps on the ocean waves ahead, the horizon bobbing and dipping with the motion of the ship, I grudgingly admitted that Marielle had been right. Mood lightened, I ordered Ottul brought up on deck. She’d been confined to her small room since we departed Amenkor. With a frown of disapproval, Marielle went below, returning with the Chorl Servant, Trielle and Gwenn in tow to watch over her.

  Ottul moved to the railing almost instantly, so fast that for a moment I thought she meant to leap overboard into the black water. But she merely stared down into the waves and the white spray from the ship hungrily, her black hair streaming out to the side, gold earrings glinting in the sun. She wore shirt and breeches, like almost everyone on board, except the Servants and Avrell. Gwenn joined her, and not long afterward they were both shrieking in delight, pointing over the ship’s rail.

  “What are they looking at?” I said.

  Marielle shrugged.

  With Marielle’s help, I moved to the edge of the ship.

  As soon as we arrived, something erupted from the water, no bigger than my hand, followed almost instantly by two others. They sailed through the air in a low arc, then splashed back down, disappearing into the depths in a flash of silver. Gwenn shrieked and clapped, jumping up and down at the railing a few paces farther down; Marielle gasped.

  “What are they?”

  “Fish.”

  It took me a moment to realize that Ottul had answered. In the coastal tongue. When I turned, the blue-skinned Servant was struggling to continue, scowling in concentration. Her hands waved in the air, her thumbs hooked together.

  “Like bird,” she said, making the flapping hand gesture again. Her voice was soft, tentative, but intent as she tried to find the right word. “Fish.”

  As she spoke, five more of the fish burst from the water next to the ship one after the other, flying through the air alongside the hull before vanishing. I could see an entire school of them below the surface, bodies flashing as they came close and caught the sunlight.

  “Flying!” Gwenn cried out suddenly. She said something short and harsh, something in the Chorl tongue, and Ottul nodded in relief. “She means flying fish,” Gwenn said.

  Ottul and I held each others’ gazes a moment, he
r scowl of impatience gone. In its place, I saw not the arrogant mask she’d worn at first, not the obstinance that had followed, but a resigned gratitude, a tentative smile, touched heavily with sadness.

  Then Gwenn grabbed her arm and pointed as two of the flying fish launched at the same time and she turned away.

  “They follow the ships sometimes,” Bullick said from the other side of Marielle. A bunch of the crew and a few guardsmen had come to the railing or climbed up into the near rigging to see what all the fuss was about. They had all steered well clear of Ottul. “Are you certain it’s safe for her to be on deck?” Bullick added, nodding toward the Chorl Servant.

  “No,” I said honestly. “But I’m not sending her below just yet either.”

  He grunted. “Very well.”

  Then he drifted away, barking something to one of the crew as he went.

  I tired of the flying fish and made it back to my chair under my own power, Trielle and Heddan joining me. Marielle remained at the railing, where Ottul seemed content pointing out things to Gwenn, the two switching from the coastal tongue to Chorl and back again. Ottul seemed extremely familiar with the ocean and the ship, and much more comfortable on deck than she had seemed in the corridors of the palace.

  Avrell commented on that when he and Keven joined us an hour later, both bringing their own chairs.

  Keven shrugged. “That’s not much of a surprise. You said they lived on a group of islands. They’d have to be familiar with the ocean and ships.”

  “You’re right,” Avrell said. He gazed at Ottul intently, but I could tell he was thinking of something else.

  “What, Avrell?”

  He started. “Nothing. Just wondering what that means for the Chorl attacking by land. If they’re used to ships, to attacks from the sea, they won’t be prepared for all the . . . subtleties of a land attack. Things like terrain and such.”

  “Especially the terrain around Venitte,” Keven said. “We’ll have to bring that up with Catrell.”

  Avrell and Keven fell into a discussion about the Chorl and tactics, while Trielle and Heddan chatted about the ship and some of the more interesting crew, Heddan giggling occasionally. I sat in silence, listening. William appeared on deck, but saw Avrell and wandered toward the back of the ship, disappearing below again after a short time. Afternoon slipped to evening, the sun sinking toward the horizon, creating a harsh gold band on the water. Light clouds appeared, scudding across the darkening sky.

  And then one of the lookouts above yelled, “Sails! Sails off the port bow!”

  Avrell surged to his feet, shouted, “Ottul!” but Marielle and Trielle were already herding her back toward the ladder, Gwenn at her side, urging her to hurry. I hadn’t even seen Trielle move. The Chorl Servant strained to see around them, eyes searching the water frantically, face intent, but she didn’t resist the Servants either.

  The crew reacted instantly, flying up into the rigging, ready for orders, while Bullick stalked toward the port side, his spyglass already out. He began scanning the horizon, face set into a frown, signals passing to the rest of the ships in the group. Sails were adjusted and the other ships began to draw closer, tightening the distance between us.

  “I don’t see anything,” I said.

  “On Bullick’s left, about a handspan away,” Keven said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s almost lost in the sun.”

  I grunted as I spotted it, nothing more than a white speck. I wouldn’t have noticed it if Keven hadn’t pointed it out.

  “The lookouts have sharp eyes,” Avrell said.

  Around us, Heddan had begun collapsing the chairs, readying to go below.

  We all waited tensely as Bullick watched the far ship through his glass, two crewmen waiting at his elbow for orders. Finally, he lowered the instrument.

  “It’s one of ours,” he said. A few of the crew around us exhaled held breaths. “A trader. They’re moving away, heading north. They probably don’t trust our colors, since three of our ships look to be Chorl.”

  He handed the spyglass to one of the waiting men, but did not move from his spot, his hands clasped behind his back.

  The mood on the deck had been broken.

  “Perhaps we should go below,” Avrell said into the awkward silence, “and see what there is for dinner.”

  “Yes,” I said. The tension hadn’t yet unknotted itself from my shoulders. I could recall the attack on The Maiden too vividly— Laurrens’ death, the slaughter of the crew, Erick’s capture—did not want to repeat that horror again.

  We descended below deck, leaving Captain Bullick to keep watch at the rail.

  The mood on the ship did not improve over the next week. Everyone moved about with tightened shoulders, coming up to the deck at random intervals to stretch their legs and taste the fresh air. But they spent most of their time watching the horizon, searching for the telltale speck of white that signaled a sail or an approaching ship. Few stayed on deck for long, descending below again, preferring the cramped quarters and the thick air flavored with the scent of straw and the stench of animal waste from the hold. Tempers grew short, flaring up over small things—a muttered, half-heard word or a look. I tried to soothe the tensions using the river, tried to smooth out the currents and eddies, but it seemed to have little effect.

  Bullick preferred having fewer of his passengers on deck. He kept a constant vigil, making corrections in the route in an attempt to avoid the more well-traveled lanes of the ocean. Twice, he adjusted the course because of sails spotted on the horizon. Both times, the other ship seemed more inclined to keep its distance. One of them Bullick identified as a ship from Merrell, moving south like us. The other he simply shrugged about when asked, too distant to get a good look.

  I assumed it was a Chorl ship.

  On the evening of the eighth day out of Temall, I came to the deck with Trielle and Keven as escort to find William at the railing at the prow, staring out into the dusk, the sun already set, the sky darkening from deep blue to indigo. A few stars pricked the blackness to the east, the moon not yet risen.

  I frowned as I caught sight of him. We hadn’t spoken since the night he’d kissed me, both of us rarely on deck at the same time, and then usually with Avrell present.

  But not now.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  Keven started to protest, his brow creasing in disapproval, but Trielle placed a hand on his arm and led him away, toward the back of the ship. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder as she went, whether in encouragement or warning I couldn’t tell.

  I focused on William’s back. Suddenly, Keven and Trielle no longer present, I found myself uncertain. He hadn’t seen me yet. It would be so much easier to retreat back to my cabin.

  Disgusted with myself at the thought, I stalked forward, slid into place at the railing beside him without looking at him.

  “You’ve kept your distance,” I said, glaring down at the luminescent white froth churned up by the ship as it slid through the water.

  I could feel William staring at me. He’d pulled back slightly, but his hands still rested on the wooden rail.

  “Keven made it clear that Avrell wanted me to stay away,” he said finally.

  “And you listened to him?”

  “Avrell is the First of the Mistress.”

  “But he’s not the Mistress, he’s not me. You should have come to ask me what I wanted.”

  William was silent a long moment. “What do you want?”

  I stilled, only then realizing that I’d been tapping the rail nervously, something with talons clutching my gut. I wanted to reach for my dagger for reassurance but thought William might take it the wrong way, so I slid beneath the river instead, let the familiar currents wash over me.

  Forcing the queasiness in my stomach to relax, I said, “I don’t know.”

  A twinge of anger and disgust from William. And hurt. “I see.”

  He began to turn away, to silently storm off, and I felt a surge of anger
as well.

  “Wait,” I said, the anger coming through in my voice. I sighed in exasperation. “I grew up in the slums, on the Dredge. I don’t know much about how to handle all of,” I waved my hand vaguely, “this. All I know is that on the Dredge, there’s only survival. There isn’t time for anything else. Sex is usually harsh and rough and violent and often deadly. There is no love, no romance, no courtship. It’s usually over in five minutes and if you aren’t lying dead in the shit in the back corner of the alley, you pick yourself up and move on.”

  “I see.” Still affronted, but with a tinge of humor. It didn’t help relieve my anger at all, but it was better than the pissed-off dismissal he’d given me before. “Are you interested?”

  “In what?”

  He shifted forward, leaned on the railing and caught my eyes, his expression serious. “In me. In me courting you, no matter what Avrell says?”

  I frowned, but couldn’t look away from his gaze. “Avrell never said we couldn’t see each other.”

  A vague answer, but William nodded. “And what about Brandon?”

  “There’s nothing between me and Brandan,” I said coldly. “I took him on a tour of Amenkor, nothing more. There’s nothing to be jealous of, nothing to be worried about.”

  William tensed, as if ready to argue, but then forced himself to relax. He gazed out over the water. More stars had appeared, the sky almost completely black now, only a thin band of blue on the western horizon to starboard.

  He smiled suddenly.

  “Then meet me here tomorrow, after dusk.”

  I glared at him skeptically. “Why?”

  “You’ll have to find out tomorrow.”

  I grunted, suspicious. I didn’t like surprises. On the Dredge, surprises were never good. But a thrill of excitement coursed through me nevertheless, tingling in my fingers. “Very well.”

  I thought he’d leave then, but he didn’t. We stayed at the railing as the quarter moon rose, lining the black waves with silver.