Princess at Sea

by Dawn Cook

  Contessa was at the far end of the table, Captain Borlett to her right and the visiting captain—a Captain Rylan, not Pentem—on her left. Apparently, Kelly’s Sapphire had been drydocked last spring to undergo repairs only to have the company that owned her fall on hard times and be forced to sell her for taxes.

  Captain Borlett didn’t know Captain Rylan, and I wasn’t happy about having an unknown sitting that close to Contessa, but I couldn’t say much, seeing as the entire dinner was my idea. I had made sure that Contessa put me on his other side to help ease my faint jitters, a precaution I now felt silly for after having spent a good three hours beside the man.

  Captain Rylan had a kind voice with a familiar, though perhaps affected, noble accent. Quick with his jests and motions, he entertained us with stories of customers who tried to take advantage of him and lost. His occasional outburst of an infectious laugh had set Jeck visibly on edge, and I was smug about it. The smallish man was well dressed if somewhat flamboyant for a merchant, with a long-tailed green coat that was all the fashion last year. It might have once rivaled Prince Alex’s more subdued attire with its gilded trim and flamboyant cut, but now the vibrant reds, golds, and greens were muted with age and showed wear.

  The man actually had bells on his boots, bells that chimed softly with every shift of feet. I had found it charming at first, but after a good three hours of it, it was annoying. He had a habit of touching his small mustache and trim beard. The original black was heavily silvered with gray, and I think it bothered him as he kept looking at Jeck’s very black beard and mustache. The gray made him look just within his fourth decade, but his clean, unmarked hands put him younger.

  Captain Rylan’s first mate had come with him. He sat across from Jeck and me, eating quickly and with little regard for manners. His gaze was perpetually distant, as if more interested in the noise from atop the deck than our conversation. A frown crossed my face when I realized I didn’t remember his name, then eased. Smitty, I thought. That’s what it was.

  Bothered I had forgotten, I pushed my plate away, trying not to get involved in Captain Rylan’s latest story. They had lost their appeal a good half hour ago, as they all revolved around sums of money and how he had gained it. Jeck leaned close as if for a private word, and I stiffened when our shoulders touched. Immediately he pulled back, bother showing in his brown eyes. “I was only going to ask if you were all right,” he said, and I stared stupidly at him.

  All right? Why? Do I have soup on my dress? I looked to see, and he prompted in exasperation, “Your swim?”

  “Oh. Ah, yes. Thank you,” I stammered, thinking that the only good thing to come of it was that I had gotten a bath. Wanting to avoid the visiting captain’s conversation, I turned to give Jeck my full attention.

  Jeck gave me a raised-eyebrow look, and my gaze dropped to his strong fingers manipulating the tarnished silver fork, twirling it with a surprising dexterity. “That was quick thinking with your horse,” he said, and Alex flushed, focusing on Captain Rylan’s conversation instead. “How did you get him in the water? Did you jump him over the side?”

  I hesitated, wondering if he was asking from a professional interest, and if so would it matter. “No. I went in first. I’ve trained him to follow my whistle,” I admitted, spearing a potato chunk and placing it delicately in my mouth. I wasn’t hungry, but I had to do something.

  His vacant focus sharpened. “You were lucky he didn’t jump atop you, then.”

  Swallowing, I gave him a dark look. “Jy is smarter than that,” I said, thinking smart or not, I had been lucky not to have four hooves and several hundred pounds land on me.

  Jeck’s elbow bumped mine, and my next fork of potato hit the edge of my mouth. I wanted to believe it was an accident but knew better. The situation was preposterous: I outranked him in polite society, he outranked me in player tradition. I think I had just been rebuked—which wasn’t his job to begin with—yet he couched it with enough flattery that my royal standing would have trouble finding fault with him. Annoyed, I snuck a glance at him, thinking he was unnervingly good with this dual nature we were both afflicted with.

  I set my fork down with a restrained force. Having this conversation at the table was risky but better than having it alone on deck somewhere. “Leave Alex alone,” I muttered from behind my napkin. “You have no right even to be here, much less interfering.”

  Our shoulders touched, and I couldn’t help but notice it was like running into a post. A sturdy, strong post that gave slightly and smelled like leather and horse.

  “You should unknot your bodice and take a good breath, Princess,” he said, lips hardly moving as he raised his glass in Captain Rylan’s impromptu toast to greedy men and their poor choices. “I said very little to Alex, just listened. I want this alliance to prosper as much as your master, which is why he asked me to intervene if necessary. He trusts me; why don’t you?”

  I sipped my wine and set it down, hearing the conversation rise anew around us. I didn’t trust Jeck. I didn’t think Kavenlow did either. But there was a reason Kavenlow was forcing this close association. I should take the opportunity to study him for his failings. He was cold. That was a start. Impersonal. And annoying in his almost compliments of me and my skills, and clever, though that wasn’t a fault unless it spilled into overconfidence.

  “You did well,” he said, laying his napkin on his plate so the cook would take it away. “Saving your sovereign’s life and convincing her to apologize? She will, and so will Alex. Now close your mouth or say thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching for my wine with the intent to spill it on him.

  “You’re welcome.” The man’s powerful fingers gently encircled mine, and he set my glass on the table, “They’re going to come from this with respect for each other, not hate. You are an appalling judge of character, but you play matchmaker very well.” He inclined his head. “Potential disaster turned to opportunity. Kavenlow may be right—you have some value after all.”

  Wondering if there was a compliment in there, I pulled my fingers out from under his, thinking they were warm. “I’ve had practice. My childhood was one disaster after another.”

  He laughed. It was loud and surprising, and I think it shocked him as much as me since he abruptly cut it short.

  Immediately Captain Rylan leaned to the center of the table, his eyes bright from too much wine. “Tell us!” he demanded. “You two have been very quiet among yourselves. What has Madam Ambassador said to make such a distinguished gentleman of valor laugh?”

  Gentleman of valor? I wondered, bothered. “Nothing,” I offered. “I was simply telling Captain Jeck that my life seemed to be one disaster after another.”

  “Disaster,” the visiting captain said. “Tell us!”

  Contessa looked pleadingly at me, clearly wanting me to intervene, and I was glad smooth dinner conversation wasn’t my responsibility anymore. I directed her gaze to the wine, and she reached for it. “Mr. Smitty,” she said softly. “Would you like some more wine?”

  Barely breaking from sopping the last of his gravy with a chunk of biscuit, he pushed his tin cup to her. She blinked, and in the awkward silence, filled it. Not even glancing up, Mr. Smitty reached for it and downed it.

  I stared, appalled, matters made worse in that he didn’t wipe what spilled from his beard. The bells on Captain Rylan’s boots chimed, and Mr. Smitty wiped his face. “So,” Captain Rylan said as if to distract us all, “Madam Ambassador, how did you and your sister meet? I’ve heard you were raised apart, not knowing of each other until recently. I think how two people meet is telling, casting shadows on their entire relationship.”

  My attention jerked from Rylan’s first mate, who had stretched halfway across the table to reach another biscuit. His overcoat had a tear in the armpit that showed a vivid red undershirt. “Um,” I started, glancing at Contessa. A short thirty seconds after we had met, I had knocked her down and pounded her head into the ground. She had tried to
pull my hair out and ended up giving me a black eye. “Nothing special,” I murmured, watching the lamp swing.

  Captain Rylan’s thick eyebrows bunched. “How about you and Captain Jeck, then? It’s obvious you’re well acquainted. That must be a fascinating story.”

  Jeck and I exchanged looks. I was sure mine was tinged with panic. My parents had just been murdered, and Jeck had been the one to carry me kicking and screaming to my room, dropping me on the rug as if I had been a slaughtered pig. Fascinating didn’t seem appropriate.

  I opened my mouth while I tried to think up some lie, but Jeck set his glass down with an attention-getting thump. “We met in the palace,” he said, his voice rising and falling in a soothing cadence, his faint Misdev accent making him sound exotic. “There isn’t much to say. She was the crown princess at that time. I was a guard. We met. We parted.”

  “Ah!” the flamboyant Captain Rylan exclaimed, gesturing. “But you were the captain of the guard. Romance blooms with chance meetings of forbidden pairings.”

  I gave Jeck a wry look, stifling my snort. “You’re a romantic, Captain Rylan,” I said, as Contessa blushed. “I’ve never found that how two people meet has a bearing on their future.”

  My mind drifted to how Duncan and I met. I suppose that could be considered romantic, especially from his point of view. He had been cheating a table of merchants and laborers. I had needed money to escape the capital and so forced him to lose the entire table’s winnings to me or I’d turn him in. I wouldn’t have, though. They would have cut off his hands, and I would have been recognized and recaptured.

  “No, no, no,” Captain Rylan insisted, the wine he had drunk making him louder than he ought to be. He accidentally knocked over a candle in reaching for his glass, and it went out, spilling white wax. My shoulders slumped. I would probably be the one to have to scrape it from the oiled wood tomorrow.

  “That’s where your youth betrays you, my dear lady,” the slightly tipsy man was saying. “The wiser—the old man or woman—would agree with me.”

  He turned to Contessa, the fragrant smoke from the extinguished candle rising between them to tickle my nose. “Your Majesty,” he said, “how did you and your husband meet? I’m sure that is a romantic story. You are both so obviously fit for each other. Such a finer-matched royal couple I have never heard of.”

  The table went silent. Contessa dropped her eyes, and Alex stiffened. Stomach tightening, I wondered if I should say something, even though it wasn’t my place.

  Captain Rylan glanced between them, the widening of his eyes telling me he had realized there was a problem. I was sure the small man was perceptive enough to know something unsaid was shifting through the air smelling of chicken, boiled potatoes, and extinguished candle.

  Alex moved his wineglass but didn’t drink. “It was an arranged affair,” he said, and my shoulders eased. “We met at a political function organized for the occasion.”

  “Yes, yes,” Captain Rylan encouraged. “But wasn’t she the most beautiful woman there? Did you dance? Did she step on your foot, spill a drink on you, flirt with the other men and drive you mad with jealousy?”

  Contessa grew even more despondent. She had been beautiful that night, her color high and her every move beyond reproach. She hadn’t flirted, but all eyes had been on her, and many strove for her attention. She had given it all to Alex, though reserved and modest in her shy awkwardness. She had forgotten her childhood promise to Thadd that night, caught up in the elegance and circumstance of the evening.

  Only now did Alex seem to soften, looking almost pained. “She was the most exquisite woman there, in a dress as black and soft as a midsummer night, her skin as pale as the moon. I remember how kind she was to the serving girl who dropped a spoon and soiled Contessa’s hem.”

  I remembered, too. Contessa had been so nervous, frightened. Seeing someone make a mistake and survive had given her the strength to risk making a mistake herself.

  “I think it was at that moment that I vowed a woman that kind should have the opportunity to find love in her marriage, especially one forced upon her,” Alex said.

  The table was silent. Contessa flushed, and even I was embarrassed by the man’s admission. From above came loud shouts followed by bare feet thumping as the crew was distracted, and they crossed the deck following some new amusement. Jeck’s face was empty of emotions and closed when turned to him.

  “There, you see?” Captain Rylan said into the awkward silence, filling it with a voice surprisingly loud for a man so small. “Romance, even in arranged marriages.”

  Mr. Smitty finally stopped eating and pushed his plate away. Wiping his hands upon his pants, he gave Captain Rylan a wary, expectant look.

  Contessa stood with a frantic quickness, her face frozen in a heartbroken expression. Immediately, the men stood as well, Mr. Smitty rising slowly and last of all. The more I saw of him, the less I liked, though he had said no more than three words to anyone all evening.

  “Excuse me,” Contessa warbled, miserable. “I need some air, gentlemen.”

  I shifted myself over the bench, hands gripping my skirts as I rose. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, allow me.” Captain Rylan graciously extended his arm. “It would be an honor to escort you. Permit me some small show to repay you for your hospitality.”

  I wondered if going on deck might not be a good idea since the shouts coming through the deck had grown louder, more instant. I caught the word fire, and I froze.

  My gaze shot to Jeck, my heart pounding. We were on fire?

  Jeck was poised, staring up at the deck as if he could see through it. “We’re on fire,” he said softly. I followed his gaze to where the candle had extinguished itself, the smell of the burning tar and rope on deck disguised by its fragrant smoke.

  A sudden clatter of boots at the open hatch drew everyone’s attention. “Captain!” a frantic crewman stammered as he all but fell partly down the stairs. “Fire. At the bow!”

  Captain Borlett leapt to the hatch, jerking everyone else into motion. Jeck was halfway up the stairs and gone before I had even reached for a handhold. Heart pounding, I took Contessa’s elbow and helped her forward. I could smell the sharp tang of burning tar now over the candle. Heaven preserve us. We were on fire.

  Contessa’s boots slipped on the wide stairway. Alex appeared from nowhere, catching her other elbow and keeping her from going down. Jeck was standing on the deck already, his eyes on the bow as he extended a hand to everyone to make their exodus faster.

  I followed Contessa up into the black night. Immediately, the cool wind struck me, and the bobbing of the deck seemed more pronounced. Holding the hair from my eyes, I squinted into the dark, looking through the scattered, frantic crewmen for Duncan. A thick, oily scent caught in my throat: the scent of half-burned oil seeming to be the very night burning.

  My gaze shot to the bow, where a small fire sent orange-and-yellow shadows against the railings. As the wind cut through my lightweight dress, my first panicked reaction faltered.

  From the reaction of the white-faced crewman, I had expected to see flames in the lines and half the boat gone. What I found was a small spot of orange where the bow light had hung. The fire had been spotted by the other vessels, and their railings were full of calling men. Behind them, the island loomed, a darker black against the cloud-darkened night. It was a single point of stability in the moving night. The Sandpiper rose and fell with the waves in the lee of the island. Nearby were the lights from the two warships and Captain Rylan’s own smaller vessel, lit up with what looked like half a dozen torches.

  Captain Borlett’s squat figure was outlined by the orange light. I recognized Duncan’s lanky silhouette beside him. The crew had been organized to beat the fire out with rags. Two men were throwing empty sacks out of the fore hatch, and more men were starting in with those.

  “It’s bad luck!” Haron called as he slapped at the oil fire, making my lips purse. “Bad luck for bringing the
m women. The bow light has never fallen before.”

  “Shut your mouth, Haron!” Captain Borlett demanded distantly, swooping forward to take the sack out of his hands and beat at the flames himself. “You two! Leave off there. Keep the fire off the anchor rope and the foresail. No, you fools! Get that bucket out of here. You can’t put an oil fire out with water! You want to set the entire boat aflame?”

  Alex touched Contessa’s shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he murmured, his green eyes on the flames. He started to the bow with quick steps, and Jeck boldly took his arm, jerking him to a stop. Alex stared at him, pulling out of his grip.

  “I’ll go, Your Highness,” Jeck said. “I’d ask you to remain here.”

  Grimacing, Alex dropped back to us, looking frustrated as he tossed his short bangs from his eyes and took a protective stance beside Contessa. My eyes smarted when a gust of wind sent smoke over us. Contessa started to cough, and Alex took her arm in concern. She waved him away, which he ignored, taking off his silk-lined coat and draping it over her shoulders.

  Jeck gave me a warning look before he started to the bow at a fast pace. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and unnerved, I spun to find Captain Rylan and his first mate behind us. “Captain,” I exclaimed, pulling the hair from my mouth. “You gave me a start.”

  “My apologies, ma’am.” His face was unseen from under his hat in the absolute dark of the deck, and I wondered if I had heard his bells over the wind or just sensed him behind me. Mr. Smitty beside him had his hands clasped at the small of his back as he balanced easily against the boat’s motion. Eyes tearing from the oily smoke, Captain Rylan waved a ringed hand at the bow, and asked, “Was it your bow light?”