“Well, that was a nice change of pace,” Meena commented with a grin.
Above them, what remained of the elevator clattered downward. Worried voices hailed them.
“I feel so good, I don’t want to move…” Sanych trailed off, brushing sand from her skin with slow, gentle strokes. “This feels fascinating.”
“Hmm. Might have overdone it. No lollygagging—we need to get to the ships.” Meena stood and hauled Sanych to her feet, just as the men’s elevator crashed to the sand a dozen feet away.
Geret was the first one out of the lift. He ran to Sanych and grasped her shoulders in disbelief.
“You’re all right?” he asked.
She smiled, tipping her head up at him. “Geret. So concerned.” She stood on tiptoe and drew his head down, pressing her lips gently against his. “That’s sweet.”
Geret’s eyes widened at the unexpected kiss. “Uh…” He looked to Meena, who grinned apologetically. Sanych leaned against his chest. He looked down at Sanych’s blonde hair and rested a tentative arm on her shoulders. “Just glad you’re not hurt.”
Kemsil and Salvor arrived. “No one died?” Kemsil asked in disbelief.
“Meena has that effect on people,” Salvor said, frowning at the placement of Geret’s arm.
Kemsil shook his head in amazement, and everyone began jogging toward the longboats. The cannons boomed out again, from the ships first, and then from the cliff. Everyone except Sanych ducked, but no projectiles struck the beach or the cliff. The group waded into the surf with the retreating Clansfolk and piled into a departing longboat. Meena sat and grabbed an oar, and Kemsil and Geret sat behind her. Sanych sat down and studied the wear patterns on her oar’s handle, frowning and blinking as she began to feel more like herself.
Salvor asked, “What did you do to her? I wasn’t like that, was I?”
“It’s a form of shielding,” Meena said, pulling in time with the other rowers. “I started healing her before she landed, and didn’t stop until we were down in the sand.”
“You must have really not wanted me to die,” the Archivist murmured.
Meena smiled over at her, working her oar in rhythm with the others. “I may have panicked over your impending fate for a moment. And Sanych?”
“Yes?”
“Row.”
Sanych focused and got her oar to move with its mates. The occasional Aldiban cannonball splashed around them, but the Clansfolk in the longboats did not react with fear. They hooted and taunted the Aldibans for having terrible aim and shooting like little boys. Men and women alike, unaware that Kemsil’s Circuit made the entire boat invisible, bared their bottomcheeks to the cliff, joking that maybe the Aldibans could see better with the light of a few more moons. Sanych, still happy and relaxed, chortled to herself and didn’t enlighten them.
~~~
The retreat from the Aldib compound was swift and orderly. The pirates’ vessels slipped away into the night, never to return.
But the damage to the House of Aldib was irreversible. Kemsil had made sure of that. With House Nabal as a witness to the successful pirate raid and the loss of the Circuit of Sa’qal, Aldib’s eventual destruction was a certainty. He had even wreaked his personal revenge on Alima.
While the crew aboard the Princeling began to celebrate with bottles of Aldib’s best champagne, Rhona ordered Sanych below to her cabin. While she closed the door behind her, Sanych stood beside the narrow table, not wanting to sit and make herself even shorter in the angry pirate’s presence.
“You deaf, wench?” Rhona began. “Because I know I heard myself order you to stay at the cliff’s edge. Not to mention aboard the Princeling before that!”
Sanych tensed, unused to hearing such obvious anger unleashed in her direction. “You don’t get to tell me where to go and when to stay,” she began.
“Oh, I don’t? I think I do. I think I’m the captain of this ship, and of the entire fleet that’s carrying you, your precious prince, and his straitlaced bodyguard to Shanal with the Seamother. I think I can dump all three of you Vintens over the side in the first fey mood that takes me. None of my crew will object. They know the rules! Something I can’t say for you. No one really needs you here; this story will be told with or without your help. Or do you think your dear, sweet princeling might mourn you for an afternoon or so?” She gave an ugly chuckle.
“I’d do more than mourn, Rhona.” Meena’s cool voice issued from behind the silk curtains that partitioned the room. “I’d make you turn this dear, sweet Princeling around and go back for her, and if need be, I’d drive a hook through your arse and toss you overboard as bait.” The Shanallar pulled the silk drape aside and let the weight of her gaze rest on Rhona. “If Sanych comes to harm, by your hand or by another’s, through intent or neglect, there will be consequences so dire that I’ll make the Prime of Agonbloom look like a flagrant-winged prissbird during mating season.”
“Seamother…I didn’t know you were—”
“I am everywhere, wench. Like the very sea itself. And the only person the Seamother needs is Sanych elTiera. Like it or not, your mission is to get her to Shanal alive and whole. You do not punish her for doing the task I have assigned her. That will be for me to do, should I see fit. Is my point sharp enough for you?”
“Very sharp, Seamother.” Rhona seemed aghast at the speed with which she’d submitted to Meena. After a moment, she turned to Sanych and added, “You’re free to go.”
Sanych slid past her, looking away from Rhona’s hard stare.
~~~
Rhona watched Sanych slither out the door. She could feel her own anger thrusting after the wench like an invisible dagger, yet at the same time, the Seamother’s presence behind her blunted its tip to uselessness.
She dared to kiss my princeling. Geret is mine! she raged. But with the Seamother’s protection, I can’t touch her. There’s only one choice left, and I need to act now, or all my plans will fail. I can’t lose him; I can’t lose my future.
She turned to Meena, who watched her with interest. “Let’s have some more of that freshly-liberated champagne, shall we, Seamother? After you.”
Meena grinned and led the way up on deck. Behind her, Rhona took a deep breath, building her courage. Gods above, make him say aye!
She edged her way against the rail beside Geret while Meena sat down on the deck beside Sanych. Champagne bubbled and golden goblets winked in the blue lamplight as everyone enjoyed the liquid spoils of their raid.
Most of the crew were in mid-song, entertaining their guests with the Redemption of Trea Kinnartha. It told the tale of a young captain with such supercilious behavior that her own crew tossed her overboard, disbelieving her warnings about an erupting Clan war. Loyal to her crew nonetheless, Trea and her sea monster destroyed the enemy vessel that attacked her ship, giving her life for them and redeeming her in their eyes.
Rhona knew her own crew intended the song as a compliment to her for the successful raid on Aldib, but she’d never cared for this particular Lay of the Worthy, nor the way most Clansfolk took the crew’s side, blaming Captain Trea for her own fate. She stopped and sang along anyway, though.
“And the Half-farthing swelled with their riotous cries!
The crew mutinied under the night’s darkened skies,
Heaving o’er to the sea the gods’ most favored prize:
The soul and the will of a captain.”
The singers with drinks in their hands took an inter-stanza gulp, as was tradition. Someone handed a full glass to Rhona.
“But the gods, they were stymied; not yet could they feast,
For young Trea Kinnartha, she summoned her beast,
And she mounted its carapace, driving it east
With the soul and the will of a captain.
Yon, Clan Deeplight struck swift, with aim deadly and true,
Using mirrors and sunlight, confounding her crew
Just as Trea Kinnartha had warned, for she knew
In the
soul, in the will of a captain.
With a howl, she attacked with her beast and her blade
For nor vengeance, nor victory would be delayed!
As she perished, heart twained, to the gods her crew prayed
For the soul and the will of their captain.
Now the waters are calm and the seasons have turned,
And the arrogant rage in her heart’s long since burned,
Final sacrifice giv’n, final glory well-earned
By the soul and the will of the captain!”
Rhona took a final drink, draining her glass, and hid a grimace. The Lays reflected the harshness of Clan life and the strength needed to overcome its challenges. While promising success in spite of flaws, the Lays never flinched from detailing the cost of that success. Rhona found the contemplation of future cost distracting. Wasn’t it better to act decisively based on the here and now? She thought so.
Time passed in more song and genial jesting. Sanych fell asleep, head pillowed on Meena’s thigh in the light of the ship’s jellyfish lamps. Rhona stepped away from the rail, drawing attention to herself. She turned to Geret; his eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed with the good champagne they had stolen. She took his free hand and pulled him to his feet, saying, “You did well tonight on the raid, Geret. Such a hero is worthy of the captain’s eyes.”
The crew clapped and sniggered, and Geret sketched a wobbly bow. Siela, Rhona’s second mate, giggled with several of her crewmates. “Is he worthy of anything else the captain might ‘ave upon ‘er person?” she slurred.
Rhona’s eyes drifted to Sanych, then to Meena. The Seamother’s eyes were unreadable in the blue lamplight. This is my blood-crusty ship, no matter who else is on board! Looking back up at Geret’s smiling face, she said, “I believe he is.”
“Is he worthy of the captain’s nose?” someone called.
“Nay, he wants for a bath first,” Rhona replied. The crew chortled.
“Is he worthy of the captain’s hair?”
“Nay, he’s clearly got no notion of style with his own!” She giggled. “But I do believe he may be worthy of being claimed by the captain’s lips.” She reached up and drew Geret’s chin down with one hand, then kissed the prince amid the cheers and jests of her fellow Clansmen and Clanswomen.
Off-balanced by her action, Geret stumbled into Rhona and caught himself with his arms around her.
“‘Ware, it appears he may not be worthy of the captain’s deck boards either,” Siela called. She began a whistle that imitated the sound of an incoming cannonball, ending it by clattering the heels of her boots against the deck. Others joined in, and soon Geret and Rhona were surrounded by the sounds of cannonballs and laughter.
“What ho, Cap’n Rhona? Do you need your princeling to help you hold a fork, in case your hands are too curled from hoarding swag?”
The Clansfolk made cannonball whistles and thumped the deck loudly, laughing.
“Or maybe,” another added, “she needs his unsalted eyes to read her charts for her.”
Again the crew whistled and stomped their feet, then broke into laughter. Rhona soaked it all in, feeling flushed with triumph. Geret hadn’t rejected her advance, despite what she had seen between Sanych and him from the cliff top on Aldib. If she gambled right, she knew she could return home with not only a completed Age Quest, but a solid alliance with a dirtwalker realm to aid in her rise to power. Not even her mother had managed to shoot so high.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t care how far you run, Anjoya,” her sister hissed as she matched her steps along Salience Harbor’s stone pier. “You can’t escape your own cowardice.”
Anjoya strode forward without looking at her, stepping down onto one of the many wide wooden piers that quilted the dark waters of the harbor.
“Come now, Ethari,” she replied, “we both know it’ll be even easier for you to prop yourself up with your hostess friends when I’m gone. Why are you fighting this?”
Ethari’s nostrils flared, and they took a few paces in silence toward a large galleon in the process of having its holds stuffed with goods. “It’s not about my reputation, Anjoya. It’s about my safety.”
At that, Anjoya paused, frowning.
“You know what I mean,” Ethari insisted. “The Jualans who are after your fool of a lover will come looking for him here sooner or later. When they don’t find him, they’ll look for you. When they can’t find you, doesn’t it seem obvious that they’ll come looking for me next?”
Anjoya resumed her walking. She wasn’t surprised that Ethari valued her only as a buffer between herself and possible violence. “I don’t see the problem. You know where I’m going. Just tell them.”
“You think me the type to simply hand over my own blood to ruthless killers?” Ethari asked, placing a hand dramatically over her bosom.
Count Braal Runcan waited for Anjoya a few paces away, next to their boxes and duffels. She gave him a patient smile, then turned to her sister again. “Yes, I do. Especially since I’m telling you to do it if it’ll save you some trouble. House Aldib will never sail all the way to Cyrmant to ask me the whereabouts of their missing bridegroom. And you: you could have stayed in Greater Salience and bitched in someone else’s ear today. It may have escaped your notice, but I’m a little preoccupied with fleeing the country to stroke your ego this morning.”
Runcan lifted his eyebrows at her. Anjoya knew that, after all his time in Salience, he would recognize that such an impatient tone from a hostess approximated to screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs.
Ethari tsked and crossed her arms. “You’ll never be a proper hostess if you keep blurting such horrible things out in public, dear.”
“I’m done being a hostess, proper or not. Those crates by Count Runcan are all we’re taking with us. I’ve given all my outfits, my recipes and decorations to the Lesser Salience Hostesses’ Guild.”
“There’s no such thing.”
Anjoya smiled. “There is now. Count Runcan petitioned a charter from the caliph yesterday, on my behalf. You’ll never push around a Lesser Salience hostess again, Ethari. Not without irreplaceable personal loss.”
Runcan approached them during the lull in which Ethari struggled for something to say. To Anjoya, he said, “Our goods are next for loading aboard Captain Naizmin’s good galleon Shoon. We should board soon ourselves; I’m confident he’s double booked his hammock space for extra profit, seeing as this is one of the first ships to enter the harbor in months.
Anjoya nodded and headed for the nearest gangplank. Behind her, she heard the muted jingle of a pouch full of coins.
“Here,” Runcan told her sister, tossing her the pouch. “For your time as an escort.”
Ethari caught the pouch awkwardly, flushing at the ribald teasing of the nearby deck hands. Anjoya allowed herself a wicked little smile.
Runcan caught up to her and took her elbow, guiding her to the gangplank. She looked over at him, as they were of a height, and he returned a bland look for a moment, then winked at her. “One may hear any amount of gossip in the foyer of the caliph’s receiving room. Even friars love to chatter. Now, let’s go reserve ourselves some prime hammock space.”
~~~
In the glow of the successful raid, the Clansfolk continued their boisterous conversation far into the night, before reluctantly heading below or to their stations for the remainder of the night. Rhona took Geret’s hand and announced that, since Geret was under her protection, she was going to tuck him safely into his bunk, eliciting ribald comments and laughter from her crew.
As Kemsil made to head below to his own hammock, Meena reached out a hand to forestall him. “Have you learned how to make it work while you sleep?”
“Yes, I believe so,” he said, crouching beside her. He indicated the seven-pointed star. “This holds all the other settings where I leave them, no matter how I try to concentrate and alter them. I just need to remember to press it again in the morning
, so the settings will become fluid again.”
Meena smiled. “You’ve made quick work of that device, Kemsil.”
“I’d rather you still call me—”
“No. You’ve done your House proud this day, whether they’d acknowledge it or not. Take your name back now; this enemy won’t have the energy to spare hunting you down in time to catch us.”
Kemsil blinked in thought, then nodded and quietly bade her good night.
Sanych still slept against Meena’s leg. Salvor carefully scooped her up so Meena could stand. The Shanallar led Salvor below to the cabin she and Sanych used; it shared one wall with Rhona’s cabin.
They passed Rhona, who was slipping back out of Geret’s cabin with a triumphant smile. The captain bade them good night and entered her own cabin at the end of the hallway.
Meena opened the narrow door to her cabin for Salvor. He slipped in sideways, and Meena indicated Sanych’s bunk.
She watched Salvor set her down and lightly place a blanket over her slumberous form. His hands were gentle and sure, and his eyes, when he turned to her, spoke volumes.
She halted his exit with a soft hand on his chest, and studied those hazel eyes. His brow creased in confusion, but he didn’t speak.
Meena tipped her head, in such a way that she might have been indicating Sanych, or might have been studying him more closely. Or possibly both.
His eyes flickered toward Sanych for a moment, then returned to Meena.
“I thought so,” she whispered, smiling.
A haughty veil snapped into place over his eyes. She led him back out to the corridor, closing the door for the time being.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Of course you don’t. And I don’t either.”
He lifted his eyebrows in hope, then rolled his eyes and shut them. “Folly.”
Meena tsked and replied, “And you call yourself a polished liar. I understand now why you broke it off with her in Salience; she’s your weak spot.”
Salvor bunched the muscles on his jaw. “Just keep her safe.”
Oathen Page 7
