The Lion of the Sea (The Maiden Ship Book 2)
Page 10
The word was over-emphasized, making Sable’s eyes fly wide, and when her gaze connected with Valir’s, she saw what she’d heard—a brief flicker of fear. He was scared. At first, it didn’t make sense, but as he whirled to slam the thick oaken door behind him, she realized why. If the power she and Idris wielded was ever used to oppose him, then they could turn the tides of any invasion all on their own. Sable alone could disable battalions of soldiers in one fell swoop, and Idris could control any of Valir’s leaders with a touch—the boy could influence entire legions. They were a considerable military asset, but they were also a very dangerous threat. The thought empowered her, and her heart began easing to a normal pace—until Idris stood up beside her.
The boy’s chin was covered in vomit, his entire body vibrating as his pale fingers pumped by his sides. Sable could see the anger writhing in his gaze, and she was certain she saw something more as well—something dangerous and ancient. For a moment, he looked entirely like Leara An. Sable’s heart sped up again, her breath coming fast. She wondered how much Idris was capable of. He’d controlled her voluntary movements and her power, but could he also stop her heart, shut off her airways, drive her mad? She closed her eyes. There was no use wondering, and probably no use pleading—she deserved what was coming to her, and after all, she’d planned to die.
A long silence passed before Sable felt Idris’s pull on her tether as he shuffled away. When she opened her eyes again, the child was curled up on the wooden chair by her cot, his shaking white head buried in his knees. Her chest clenched so tight that she forgot every inch of pain in her body. She just wanted to reach out—wanted to save him. No matter what she’d just seen in his eyes, he was still only a boy.
But she couldn’t do anything. Her body stayed firmly fixed to the cot, her vocal cords sealed tight.
Hours of physical and emotional agony passed as Sable listened to Idris sob—maybe this was his revenge, keeping her silently awake, making her endure his suffering? Or maybe he just didn’t want to be alone.
Sable’s hair was drenched with tears; she couldn’t tell the time of day in their torch-lit cell, but by the silence outside, and by the way her body begged for sleep, she figured it must be the middle of the night. She’d endured long nights as a child, hiding from stalkers with her brother, but this one felt like the longest of all.
Her hope of giving the four kingdoms a small advantage over Valir had failed, and in the process she’d treated Idris like a means to end—not a person. Worst of all, she’d doomed his sister to torture. She’d had a bigger picture and purpose in her mind, but she hadn’t considered the person sitting right next to her. It was one thing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, but another thing entirely to endanger or disregard others in the process. Sable had crossed a terrible line. And it seemed the emperor was crossing that line as well. While she didn’t fully understand his past or purpose, he seemed fanatically certain that what he was doing was right, and yet he failed to see all he destroyed in the process.
As though in response to her last thought, her throat loosened. She swallowed hard, wiggling her tongue, trying to moisten her dry lips. She knew she could talk, and she wanted to apologize, to beg Idris’s forgiveness, but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, the only thing that came to her mind was an old Ernhamian lullaby. It was a song she’d sung often to Dain as they fell asleep back on The Maiden. A flood of tears streamed from her eyes again. She’d worked so hard to avoid thoughts of anyone on The Maiden, especially Dain. The possibility of never seeing any of them, of never feeling Dain’s arms hold her again, had been too much for her to bear. It had been safer not to think at all. The song swelled, and with it the faces of her loved ones filled her mind and her heart, though the lyrics from her parched throat were barely more than a whisper.
Down the river
Far from sea
In the mountains
Waits for me
Towers strong, and spires high
Forest songs, and hearths afire
A home, a home, beloved one
A home, a home, my precious one
I’ll take you there
Sweet child of mine
Far from the seas
To mountains high
In my arms
Safe you’ll be
Forever calm
Forever free
Sleep my dear
For when you wake
Fear will fly
A peace we’ll stake
In towers strong, in spires high
In forest songs, in hearths afire
A home, a home, beloved one
A home, a home, my precious one
A home, a home, beloved one
A home, a home, my precious one
Just as Sable’s song faded, the cell door squeaked.
Idris shot to his feet, breath ragged from hours of sobbing.
Sable’s strained her wet eyes to see who was entering—no one ever came at night. Was Valir back already?
The cell door swung wide, but it was not the emperor at all.
Framed in the archway stood the witch, her long white hair obscuring her ebony features and making her look as faceless as a stalker. Sable bit her lip. Maybe the emperor had changed his mind—maybe their fate would be far worse than they’d imagined.
The witch advanced.
Idris fell prostrate to the floor, the smell of vomit wafting up from where he landed on his knees.
Following stealthily behind the witch was a man Sable had never seen before. His clothes looked old-fashioned, dated, like something from a storybook. A bow lay across his back and a long broadsword was sheathed on his hip. Sable could hardly make out his features in the dimly lit cell, but from what she could tell he was young, maybe only a few years older than herself.
Idris hadn’t moved a muscle, frozen in terror as the witch moved to stand over him.
Sable held her breath as she watched the woman raise a dark hand above the child’s head. She sang one short, incomprehensible phrase and Idris crumpled—unconscious.
The flesh rope went limp.
Sable’s body began to tingle, pins and needles spreading through her limbs like they’d been asleep for a long time and were now waking. Her toes wiggled, sending a tremor of exhaustive pain through her frame, but she didn’t care. She was moving—on her own! She looked up in surprise as the witch’s shimmering eyes burrowed into her own. The woman hummed softly and untied the rope at Sable’s wrist.
Turning to her companion, the witch didn’t say a word, only looked at him like she was speaking. The young man moved to Sable’s bedside, tucking her shoulders under one arm, then her knees under the other. As he lifted her off the cot, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t be afraid.”
Sable nearly cried out for the pain of being moved, but she managed to keep herself quiet, believing, for some inexplicable reason, that she could trust the man who carried her.
They headed for the door.
Sable began to writhe painfully in the young man’s arms, protesting weakly as she reached for Idris.
The witch turned sharply, a commanding voice invading Sable’s mind. “We cannot take him.”
Sable resisted harder, wincing against the pain as she tried to free herself. Then she screamed inside her own mind, “I will not leave Idris behind!”
The witch’s brows drew together right before she dashed toward the boy, easily lifting his thin frame in her arms and heading out the door. Then the world went black.
16
Sable woke to a whispering female voice. “The boy is a problem. Like the stalkers, he’s made. The girl won’t be able to shift him, and we know she won’t leave him behind. You’ll have to get them out on foot. ”
A male voice hummed in response.
“On the southwest coastline, right above the border to Ernham, you’ll find a cove. It’s in a secret, hidden bay just beneath the Urdor cliffs. It’ll be a long journey on foot, but it’s your best hope.”
Sable tried to lift her head, tried to open her eyes, but the pain kept her prone.
The woman’s tone was rushed now. “The woods have changed little since your day. I do trust you’ll know the way. When you arrive, find Lachlan Trent and give him this—he’ll get you out.” Sable tried to open her eyes again, but failed as the woman continued, “Until then, keep the child bound, and never ever let him touch you or the girl. And above all, no magic, no matter what. The minute they find that cell empty, the stalkers will be sent out in packs.” Sable heard someone digging through a sack. “Pour this into her hair. It’ll defer the stalkers’ gaze and give the girl enough time to heal.” She heard more rustling. “I need to go. Remember what I said: keep your promise, don’t allow them to be captured—no matter what. Do I have your word?”
The man hummed again.
“And keep your eyes on the sky. There are things being made that have not yet been fully released.” Sable could only guess that the man was nodding in agreement when the woman issued a heavy sigh. “May the heavens and the seas be with you, Elden Grayspire.”
Sable jolted with surprise, the movement burning like fire through her frame. Elden Grayspire—Ileana’s Elden? She recalled his dated clothing, his bow, his sword—he certainly looked like a huntsman of old.
Moments later a strong, gentle hand lifted her head, and a cool vessel was pressed to her lips. Sable still couldn’t open her eyes. She groaned again—when would the pain end? Elden’s voice was soft. “You need to drink this; it’ll ease the pain and help you heal.”
Sable forced her head up, marveling even through the agony at how nice it was to have control over her own body again. Elden poured the cool, bitter liquid between her lips slowly. It smelled like a mix of ginger, chamomile, and perhaps willow bark. Drinking hurt, but at least the liquid worked to soothe her parched throat. When she finally managed to open her eyes, her rescuer was smiling kindly down, his warm brown eyes dancing with firelight. Sable slowly focused on the rest of her surroundings. They were inside a cave. The ceiling was low, only just tall enough for a man to stand, and it glowed in welcoming ripples from the small fire near her feet. How long had it been since she’d felt this warm?
Elden helped her to lay her head back down, and the scent of fresh pine wafted up from her bed of boughs. Then he set the cup aside and added a few more sticks to the fire. “I used to come to this cave as a boy. It was my safe place, my home away from home. It’s good to be here again.”
Her throat was painfully rough, but Sable said, “Thank you.”
Her rescuer sat down cross-legged beside her, his dark, shoulder-length curls falling forward as he rested his elbows on his knees. “You’re welcome.” Placing his fist against his chest in an old-fashioned greeting, he said, “We haven’t been properly introduced—my name is Elden Grayspire.”
Struggling to reply, Sable’s voice cracked harshly. “Sable—Sable Cortham.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Sable.” He gave her a wry grin. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Sable felt a heat rush to her cheeks. She’d never been called a lady before—vagrant, street rat, cabin girl, but certainly never lady. She wanted to protest, ask him to call her Sable, but her next attempt at speaking only made her groan. The tea needed to settle in first.
Elden clearly noted her discomfort and started talking—he seemed to be trying to fill in any gaps or questions he thought she might have. “The child is fine. He still sleeps; apparently he’ll be out for a full day and night.” He motioned toward the left corner of the cave. “He’s bound, but we tried to position him as comfortably as possible.” Sable couldn’t look in the direction Elden indicated, but she smiled her thanks. He leaned forward to stoke the fire again, and she wondered where the smoke escaped in such a small, enclosed space. “Like you, I was the emperor’s prisoner…” He paused, for a moment looking like he might say more, but instead he said, “You’re safe for now, my Lady.” Then he hopped to his feet, the spring in his step making her wonder if he was as happy to be moving as she was. “I nearly forgot this.” Elden lifted a small bottle from his pack, pulling the cork stopper from the top as he sat by her side again. “We need to put this into your hair—she said it’ll keep you hidden until you’re well enough to travel.”
The minute Sable caught a whiff of the bottle’s contents, she knew exactly what was inside. Harbourage. The potion worked to mask an adept’s talent, and it averted the stalkers’ gaze—for a time. The smell reminded her of Dain, and a small seed of hope germinated in her chest.
Elden held the bottle above her. “May I?”
Sable gave him a small nod.
The potion smelled like sewage, and she watched Elden wrinkle his nose as he poured it into her hair. “I have no idea what this stuff does, but the smell alone would make a villain run.”
A giggle bubbled up in Sable’s throat, then she laughed outright as Elden’s handsome face twisted into a truly sour grimace. The laughter drained some of the tension from her limbs—it felt good, and thankfully the tea had begun to work its way into her system as well.
Elden’s face relaxed into a grin as he finished up. “You have a lovely laugh, my Lady. I hope to hear it often.”
Dain had always told her how much he loved her laugh. She’d assumed he was biased, but now the compliment warmed her heart. After weeks of cruel imprisonment, Elden’s small kindnesses felt like a soothing balm. She watched him replace the potion in his sack, wondering again, since he’d mentioned being a prisoner himself, if he was Ileana’s beloved after all. This would be an odd twist of fate, but how many Elden Grayspires could there be in the north?
Elden squatted in front of the fire, pushing the wood around with a stout branch. The sincere warmth in his voice reminded her of Morgan Crouse, and she smiled as he said, “Thankful that concoction is away.”
Her curiosity got the better of her. “Are you Princess Ileana’s huntsman?
Elden went still as stone, and she instantly regretted her thoughtlessness. For Orthane’s sake, when would she learn to think before she acted?
There was a long moment of silence before her rescuer spun away from the fire and dropped to his knees. His back was bent to her now. “How do you know that name?”
She winced at the rawness in his voice. “She’s—my friend.”
The huntsman whipped himself around, eyes wide. “She’s alive?”
Sable managed to push herself up on one elbow, nodding with an encouraging smile. “Yes, she’s alive—though she remains cursed.”
“Cursed. Like I was?” Elden asked, complexion paling.
“For the most part, she’s bound in oak, but on nights when the three moons are full, she can take on flesh. Ileana’s a part of our ship, The Maiden.”
The huntsman crawled toward Sable. “Tell me more. Tell me how?”
Sable relayed the princess’s tale as best she could, explaining how after they’d been imprisoned in bodies of stone and wood, Ileana had been fixed as a figurehead upon The Maiden’s prow. She told how the queen of Derchar had scoured the four kingdoms in search of her lost princess, oblivious to Rectlor’s schemes. Sable ended with Ileana discovering buried talents, one of which helped to free her from her prison of oak one night per month.
Elden’s breath was shallow when she stopped talking, and he seemed unable to keep his body still. “There is more to this tale yet—am I right?”
“There is, but I think I’ll need something to eat and another cup of tea first.” She gave him a weak grin. “After that, I want to hear your story, and I really need to know why that witch helped us.”
17
No one had noticed he was missing, and thankfully nothing had actually happened to the ship or his cabin when he’d wielded the Dernamn. Only a day had passed since the crew of The Wildflower had pulled him from the sea, with everyone assuming he’d simply fallen overboard
, Dain hadn’t corrected them. It was easier to look like a clumsy fool than explain what he had seen. Alis knew better though, and he saw it in her eyes the minute she summoned him to her office. Still, she refrained from asking, insisting instead that they resume their daily sessions.
Dain refused, only agreeing to continue meeting with Jord until they reached their destination. There was a week left before they took to port in a small fishing village off the southern tip of Zaal. After his underwater adventures, Dain decided that Jord’s lessons were paying off, and it was worth soaking up whatever else his eager tutor had to offer. He also decided that it was time to let Tars in on the truth. The old mer-crone had been right about one thing—Dain had, to some degree, lost his way. Months ago, he’d learned the hard way how much people needed each other, but old habits died hard, and he’d taken on the Dernamn alone. Sable would not have gone easy on him for recklessly excluding the only real friend he had aboard The Wildflower. Plus, Tars deserved to know what Dain had learned, however indirectly it might help his sister.
Sable’s brother arrived at Dain’s cabin later that evening, lute clutched in his hand, and Dain could tell by Tars’s narrow brow that he’d indeed neglected his friend. He reached for the man’s shoulder. “Forgive me, my friend. My grief led me astray. You deserve better. Thank you for being here, with me, on The Wildflower—I’m so sorry for leaving you alone in your own grief these past weeks. Your loss was as great as mine.”
Tars grunted, his grip on the lute loosening slightly before he nodded. Dain knew it was the best he’d probably get from the often-silent man, so he motioned for Tars to take a seat on the chair by his bunk. “I have a lot to tell you—” Dain summarized his undersea adventure as best he could, but he knew, via Hannon and Ileana’s warnings, that the story of the three creators would have to be skirted. He also glazed over the depth of his new connection to Hannon; his separation from her was too painful to think about, let alone share with another. When he finished the tale, Tars stared at the pendant in awe.