by Sharon Shinn
“But I had money on the winner,” he replied, grinning back. “So I don’t mind too much.”
“I’ll wager you didn’t expect the Ardelays to get down the river in quite such a speedy manner.”
He had glanced once around the tent, apparently looking for someone, and his gaze had snagged on Zoe. She kept her eyes focused on the brazier, as if dreamily fascinated by some pattern in the glowing coals; but, in fact, she was aware of every gesture he made, every detail that caught his attention. “I never know quite what to expect of the Lalindar prime,” he said softly, though Zoe caught the words. “I wasn’t surprised at all.”
There was a burst of color and motion at the open wall of the pavilion, and Alys and Seterre stepped inside, King Vernon between them. They were surrounded by servants who must have met them on the dock, for they were already wrapped in warm robes and carrying mugs of hot liquid. Seterre nursed hers against her cheek as if trying to absorb its heat through her skin.
“I wanted to wait on the shore until the children’s race was run, but it was so cold,” Seterre announced, shivering where she stood. “I’m sure my toes have turned to ice by now.”
“Oh, I love running the river in this kind of weather!” Alys exclaimed. Indeed, her face was becomingly flushed, either with cold or excitement, and she threw off her outer robe as she strode inside. It was clear she was trying, by her own vigor, to make Seterre look wan and pathetic. “It makes me feel so alive! I could go twice as far and still feel this—elation.”
Rhan looked over at her with his ready smile. “A sweela woman rarely feels the cold,” he said in an approving voice.
Alys laughed and sauntered in his direction. “Warmed by internal fires,” she agreed, tossing her red hair. “The best of the elemental gifts, I think.”
“I think so,” he said, “but, of course, an Ardelay would be biased.”
She was standing very close to him, smiling with an unmistakable wickedness. If Zoe hadn’t been certain that Rhan knew all about handling dangerous, combustible women, she would have drawn him aside and warned him against attempting even the most casual friendship with the king’s third wife. “Rhan Ardelay,” Alys said. “It has been far too long since we have seen you at any of the palace functions.”
He bowed with a great deal of flourish. “My very dear majesty,” he said, “I am so glad you noticed.”
Practically everyone else in the tent noticed, too; Zoe saw Elidon, Mirti, Darien, and Kurtis all watching this little flirtation with varying degrees of disapproval. The only people who paid no attention were Romelle and Vernon, who had moved to a comfortable bench in the back of the pavilion while servants brought him more blankets and hot food. Zoe thought it was a little sad that only one of the king’s wives bothered to sit beside him and listen to him recite the details of his race, but Vernon seemed content to pour his tale into Romelle’s ears. The fourth queen did little besides smile and nod, but he seemed happy enough with her company.
One other person barely bothered to give Alys more than a reproving glance—Seterre, still standing at the wide doorway, looking unhappy and uncertain. It was clear she wanted to be part of the lively conversation inside the tent, but something outside claimed more of her anxious attention.
Zoe watched as Darien excused himself from his conversation and stepped over to Seterre. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, I just—Corene has won the children’s race already and she’s coming up the shore, and five or six of the other boats have docked, but Josetta hasn’t arrived yet.”
Darien’s eyebrows rose. He peered outside, craning his neck so he could look upriver. “Maybe her craft went aground upstream.”
“Maybe,” Seterre said doubtfully. “But she had hired men with her—I wouldn’t think they would encounter any trouble—”
Darien smiled. “Oh, I’d wager every coru man in the country would tell you that an affinity for water does not guarantee that your boat will never go awry,” he said. “They could have come across any number of hazards. Have all the other boats arrived?”
“I’m not sure,” Seterre said. “I don’t know how many were racing.”
Nelson had stepped over, his bluff and solid shape seeming to offer Seterre a certain reassurance. “Twenty-six,” he said, “and ten of those in the children’s race.”
“Well—” Darien said. Zoe saw him adjust his stance and narrow his eyes. She guessed he had started to count the vessels already tied up at the dock.
At that moment, Corene came charging into the pavilion, almost pushing Seterre aside in her eagerness to enter. “Did you see? Did you see? I won the race! We were so far ahead!” Like her mother, she seemed to have been made more vibrant and alive by the challenge of the regatta. Her color was high and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I knew no one would be able to catch us.”
“How far back was Josetta? Do you remember?” Seterre asked her.
Corene shrugged away the question. “I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. Mama, did you hear? I won!” she cried, and hurried over to where Alys and Rhan were still laughing together.
“I knew you would, my pet,” Alys said, giving her a perfunctory kiss. “Now get yourself something to eat. Are you cold?”
“No,” Corene said scornfully.
“This must be your daughter,” Rhan said. “Never did a princess look so much like a queen—or talk like one.”
There was probably more along this line, but Zoe transferred her attention back to the small, sober crowd at the doorway. “I count twenty-five boats,” Darien said, his voice concerned. “Maybe I should grab a few men and row back up the river to look for her.”
“I’ll come,” Nelson said instantly. “And so will my boys. You want our boat?”
Kurtis had caught the serious tone of the conversation and joined them. “It’ll be hard to fight that current,” he said. “We might be better off taking one of the smoker cars and driving along the shoreline, looking.”
Darien was shaking his head. “There are a few stretches of land where you can’t get close to the shoreline. But you might be right. Maybe we send a car up to the embarkation point and then send a boat all the way down the river—”
Before he could finish speaking, Seterre screamed.
Everyone in the pavilion froze, or swung around to stare, or dropped whatever they had been holding in their hands. “Seterre, what—” Elidon began, but Seterre screamed again and again, her voice fading as she leapt off the low floor of the pavilion and scrambled down the bank toward the Marisi.
“Majesty!” Nelson shouted and went after her. Darien was a split second behind them, and everyone else in the tent rushed for the door. Zoe pushed impatiently through the gawking crowd to see what terror was unfolding outside.
A single small boat was spinning down the river, its jaunty colors and cheerful flag bouncing gaily over the water. It moved like a piece of river trash, rudderless, directionless, and it was headed, in a wayward fashion, toward the sudden, murderous drop-off of the falls.
A single figure huddled inside, clinging to the edges, blond hair whipping around her face as the craft swooped through another curl of water and practically dumped her overboard.
Within another few tumultuous yards, her boat would tip over the lip of the falls into an unsurvivable dive.
Nelson, Kurtis, and Darien were already untying a boat from the makeshift harbor, clambering in, pushing off, but there was too much distance to cross and the current was too strong. It was not possible for them to reach Josetta before the river flung her off the edge of the world.
Almost without conscious intent, Zoe stepped outside of the pavilion, stretched her hands toward the river, and whispered a single word.
Stop.
Everything came to a halt, or perhaps everything else simply stopped registering on her senses. Noise fell away, cold ceased to matter, there was no such thing as time. As if she had plunged her fingertips into the river, she felt water r
ising up her arms, silken and cold, covering her palms, swirling around her wrists, inching up her forearms, past her elbows.
Stop, she told it again, having no idea why she was convinced it would obey. She felt a series of splashes—her shoulders were wet with a few drops—but then the water subsided, sloshing around her elbows with a gradually quieter motion.
Below her, the river ceased tumbling over the rocks at the head of the falls. It collected, tame and content, in the wide basin where the racers had come to shore, an eerie silence replacing the roar of the cascading water. But still the unrelenting currents flowed from farther upstream, rippling through the calm pool with visible shivers. And more water poured in, steady and inexorable. Stay, Zoe told it. Go no farther.
It obeyed, but fresh water still kept coming. Slowly, the river began to rise along both shorelines. The boats at the harbor started to lift above the dock, their loosely knotted ropes drifting free of the gradually submerging poles. Close to three hundred people gathered on the southern shore, watching in stupefaction as the water crept up the slanted bank, and still it kept rising.
Zoe heard, as if from miles away, murmurs of alarm and fear; she caught the small, unimportant sounds of rocks falling and feet skidding as spectators scrambled for higher ground. A voice called one word over and over—was it her name?—but she paid no attention. Someone laid a hand on her wrist but she could barely feel it through the sensation of frigid water swirling around her skin. The river climbed higher.
Out on the still, calm surface of the Marisi, buffeted only slightly by the continuously incoming water, Josetta’s boat bobbed as if at anchor a mere three feet from the waterfall’s edge. The girl sat motionless on her bench, eyes wide with countless varieties of terror, looking as if she was afraid to draw a breath for fear the extra weight would send her over the rocks.
The boat carrying Nelson and Kurtis and Darien pulled closer and closer, powered by three sets of manic oars. Zoe could see the strain on their faces, in their laboring arms. She couldn’t hear what Darien shouted to the stranded princess, but she saw his mouth work, saw him call out words of instruction or reassurance.
Zoe’s feet were suddenly engulfed in ice; the ground below her became unexpectedly treacherous. She slipped, stumbling to her knees, bewildered to find herself drenched to the waist in freezing water.
“Zoe.” That was Rhan’s voice; those were Rhan’s hands, under her elbows, forcing her to her feet. Her wet clothing clung to her skin down the length of her body. “Zoe, you have to move up the bank. The water’s coming too fast. You have to move away from here.”
She shook her head, all her attention fixed on the scene below. Darien was standing precariously in the center of Nelson’s boat, reaching for Josetta, trying to convince her to release her death grip and allow him to pull her to safety. It was a tricky maneuver at the best of times; nearly impossible when the person to be rescued was too terrified to move. Zoe had to keep the water as calm as possible. She had to keep it soothed and tranquil under the chilly sun . . .
“Zoe. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing, but you have to move. I’m going to pick you up, do you hear me? I’m going to carry you up the bank. Don’t fight me. If I don’t get you away from here, you’re going to drown. We both are.”
She shook her head again as if trying to dislodge a troublesome insect, but she didn’t resist when his arms closed around her and he lifted her in his arms. Just for a moment, she was just enough disoriented that her control faltered; there was a sudden powerful thrust of current and Josetta’s boat rocked crazily in the water. The princess had come shakily to her feet, arms outstretched. The fresh wave knocked her vessel to one side and she lost her balance, screaming.
Darien snatched her as she fell, hauling her into his boat. “Go! Go!” he shouted, and Zoe heard his voice all the way across the water. Kurtis and Nelson bent feverishly to the oars, desperately making for the disappearing shoreline. Zoe felt as if she, too, were bobbing on the water, as if the motion of Rhan’s climb mimicked the sensation of perilous floating. She twisted in his arms, keeping all of her attention on the river, her hands still outstretched. She could hear Rhan cursing, felt his feet slip now and then as he splashed up the side of the inundated bank, followed implacably by the encroaching water.
And there. They were safe. Dozens of men met Nelson’s boat at the ever-changing waterline; dozens of hands reached out to haul the precious cargo to safety. Josetta was passed from Darien to a servant in royal livery, her body limp but her eyes wide-open.
Zoe took a sharp breath and let her arms fall. Her head collapsed against Rhan’s shoulder.
There was a shout from the men still climbing out of Nelson’s boat and a hurried commotion as they jumped into the fast-receding water, aiming for land. With a giant whoosh of explosive sound, the swollen river broke wildly for the freedom of the falls. Noise echoed from every direction as men yelled, boulders rolled, and the plummeting water sucked dirt and plants and stones behind it in a swift, disordered tide. Josetta’s boat was the first thing over the rocks and down the glittering side of the mountain.
That was the last thing Zoe saw before she fainted in her cousin’s arms.
TWENTY-ONE
“More flowers,” Annova said,bearing in an enormous vase filled with yellow blossoms, each one as big as a grown man’s hand. It was the twelfth bouquet that had arrived in Zoe’s suite that morning, though Zoe had slept through the delivery of the first five. “Where are they getting flowers at this time of year? But they smell wonderful.”
She held the vase down so Zoe could sniff the blooms and agree that they were particularly fragrant. Zoe was sitting up in bed, propped against a ridiculous pile of pillows, feeling much too weak to move around the bedroom or get dressed or even get out of bed. It was now a little past noon on the firstday of Quinnelay. She had slept all afternoon, all night, and most of the morning, waking up only briefly several times before subsiding again into exhausted slumber.
Since the remarkable events the day before, she had talked to no one except Annova, although Calvin apparently had been very busy gathering gossip for her. It was Annova who had made the decision not to admit anyone to Zoe’s room—not the king, not any of the queens, not her Ardelay or Lalindar relatives—for which Zoe was profoundly grateful. Despite the sleep, despite the bouquets from grateful admirers, she still felt shaky and uncertain and confused.
What had actually happened yesterday on the Marisi? How had she been able to bend the river to her command?
“I’m sure there must be greenhouses somewhere in the city where the wealthy can buy flowers year-round,” Zoe said in a faint voice. “Who sent these?”
“Elidon,” Annova answered.
Which made sense, since yellow was an elay color. The first to arrive—so Annova had told her—had been Seterre’s thank-you, a small flowering tree massed with tiny purple blossoms. Seterre had brought it herself, begging for a chance to thank Zoe in person for saving her daughter’s life.
“She’s sleeping,” Annova had said firmly. She had repeated the conversation to Zoe with a great deal of relish. “She was drained almost to the point of death by yesterday’s efforts.”
“I will never be able to express my gratitude to her—anything she wants from me, I will gladly give it—”
“Thank you, but Zoe Lalindar has everything she needs.”
In rapid succession, more tributes had arrived—showy red flowers from Alys, a spray of orange lilies from Romelle, a gigantic vase of multicolored blossoms from King Vernon himself, and smaller remembrances from Mirti Serlast, the Ardelays, and a handful of others.
Zoe was a little surprised, after Annova reeled off the names, to learn that Darien was not among them. Not put out, of course—she had not expected anyone except Seterre and perhaps the king to offer thanks. But she had thought Darien might send a note or stop by the room or, in some fashion, express concern for her well-being after such a dramatic day.
Not, of course, that it mattered to her that he had not.
“What has everyone been saying?” Zoe asked Annova as the older woman found a place for the yellow flowers. “What happened yesterday? Why was Josetta alone in the boat?”
“Have a meal first, and then Calvin will tell you everything he knows.”
It was the third time Annova had insisted Zoe eat something. Every time Zoe had opened her eyes during the past twelve hours, Annova had fed her small, quick meals before allowing her to fall asleep again. Zoe suspected that this was the reason she didn’t feel even worse, though she was wretched enough—sore, exhausted, every muscle stretched and pummeled. She had been surprised, when she checked her skin, to find not a single mark or bruise. She would have sworn her body had been slammed against a wall or rolled down a rocky hill. Her arms and shoulders felt the most abused, aching from the strain of being extended for so long.
As Zoe held back the waters with her own two hands.
How was such a thing possible?
She shivered a little in the bed.
“Have a hot meal first,” Annova amended. “Would you like another blanket? Should I build up the fire?”
“No—just—I want to hear what Calvin has to say. Please.”
Annova relented. “All right. But you must eat while he’s talking.”
Five minutes later, Zoe was sitting with a tray across her lap, picking at the soup, the bread, the cheese, and the sweets that Annova had provided. Calvin had settled his thin body into a chair at the foot of the bed, as if prepared to stay for a long, entertaining conversation. He was dressed in his usual bright colors, and his face was alight with excitement. Annova leaned against the wall, willing to listen, but mostly focused on making sure Zoe kept eating.
“What happened? And what is everybody saying?” Zoe demanded.
“The young princess was too hysterical to talk much yesterday afternoon, so we did not hear her story until this morning,” Calvin related in his raspy voice. “But she says that her hired sailors seemed to have trouble from the minute they cast off.”
