The Duke & the Pirate Queen

by Victoria Janssen

  “So I did,” Annja said, her tone grudging. “This one did rescue us, after all. Not like that useless concubine.”

  It took Maxime a moment to realize she meant him. He bit his lip hard to keep from laughing.

  Annja withdrew her arm from Suzela’s shoulders and resettled herself, arms crossed over her chest. “Go on, then. Tell him.”

  “And—” Suzela said.

  Annja grinned. “Oh, yes, afterward, certainly that.”

  “Certainly what?” Chetri asked. “You can’t simply run off. You have nowhere to go.”

  “We weren’t talking about leaving,” Annja said.

  Suzela said quickly, “You wanted to know Captain Cassidy and Captain Litvinova.”

  Chetri turned slightly to face the women directly. “We do. It’s true we’ve escaped them for now, but it’s not unlikely we’ll encounter them again. It’s to your advantage to tell me what you know. We’ll protect you. My captain will not give you back to them, after they treated you so poorly.”

  Suzela and Annja both nodded. Maxime was interested to note that Annja did so more emphatically; Suzela’s nod was merely a confirmation. Suzela, it appeared, had made her decision based on other factors than her own immediate safety. She might, he thought, value loyalty, the loyalty that Imena’s crew possessed and the pirates apparently did not.

  Suzela said, “Would you like to tell him, Annja?”

  Annja shrugged. “You wanted to know what Captain Litvinova was after, didn’t you?”

  “Among other things,” Chetri said solemnly.

  “Well, she wasn’t sailing those waters by chance. She was looking for your ship, I think, or one like it.”

  “Looking for us? Why?”

  Suzela said, “She talked of trading ships. Ships that had been to certain ports.”

  Chetri asked, “In the duchies, or the empire, or elsewhere?”

  Good question, Maxime thought approvingly.

  “Other ports,” Suzela said. “I had never been to any of them, nor Annja.”

  Annja said, “She was interested in a kind of balsam. I’m afraid I don’t know its name. It was new to her, and to her employer, and apparently very valuable.”

  Maxime had already guessed to which balsam they referred; he was interested to note that Chetri apparently had done the same, for he didn’t mention it, neatly deflecting the conversation. “Her employer? I wasn’t aware pirates had employers,” he said.

  Annja shrugged again. “Captain Litvinova needed funds. To get them, she had to look for this balsam. Captain Litvinova hired Venom to help her in case there was a fight, but she regretted it later.”

  “Who paid Captain Litvinova?” Chetri asked.

  “It was a woman in the duchies. I had never heard of her before. She called herself a lady, though, as if she had status.”

  “The lady Diamanta,” Suzela said.

  Maxime was hard put not to exclaim aloud. He bent closer to the colloquy below. It was clear from the expression on Chetri’s face that he had no idea who Diamanta might be.

  Annja helped him. “Lady Diamanta said she was from the court of King Julien of the duchies.”

  “Ah,” Chetri said. “Do you know if she was interested in anything aside from this balsam? Did she say anything more about the duchies? About anyone in particular from there?”

  Suzela shook her head. Annja shrugged. “No, no one else. It was all for money, as usual. Everything comes down to payment in the end.”

  “Not everything,” Suzela said. “There’s giving.”

  Annja’s expression softened, and she brushed her fingers down Suzela’s arm. “For you, maybe there is.” She turned to Chetri again. “We know more, but none of it is quite as important, I think.”

  “Will you speak to the captain about this? And answer all her questions?”

  “We will,” Suzela said. “Both of us.”

  “Then I thank you,” Chetri said.

  Suzela said, “If she will permit, we will swear our loyalty. I’ll stand surety for Annja.”

  “We all stand surety for ourselves,” Chetri said. He looked at Annja, his expression solemn. “If you didn’t want to do that, we wouldn’t abandon you. We’d take you to the nearest port, make sure you could get to a safe place. The captain’s employer would insist upon it. To him it’s a small expense.”

  Annja shrugged. “I’ll do what’s necessary to stay with Suzela. I have no plans to betray your ship to pirates. I hardly want to return to them, do I?”

  “Good,” Chetri said. “Then perhaps we should return to the camp.”

  “Not yet,” Suzela said. Sudden silence fell. Maxime, who’d been about to slide discreetly off his rock, froze. When he dared to peer over the edge of the rocks again, Suzela was kissing Chetri, both her hands gripped in his long hair.

  Maxime could hardly depart after that. If they heard or saw him, they would be embarrassed, and what if the women refused to share any more information?

  His conscience twinged. He and Imena certainly hadn’t liked being watched. But that had been different, much different. This was an accident, and also he would apologize later, if it seemed the right thing to do. And also…

  Chetri was grinning and looking dazed. Maxime recalled that shore leave had been curtailed on his own behalf. Chetri didn’t have a regular partner aboard Seaflower and Maxime didn’t think he had an occasional partner, either. Chetri would not thank him if he interrupted.

  Chetri was stroking Suzela’s cheek; then he turned just slightly and wrapped his free arm around Annja’s shoulders, holding her close. Annja ducked her head and hid her face in his neck.

  Maxime swallowed. He would wait a few moments, that was all, until the trio became too involved to pay attention to their surroundings, and then he would slide off the rock and return to camp. He needed to see Imena, to pass on what he’d learned.

  Maxime found Imena in their tent, reading through long lists and making occasional notes. She must have tucked her pen behind her ear at some point, because a smudge of ink marked her temple. He let the tent flap fall shut behind him and knelt beside her.

  She looked up, clearly abstracted, and smiled at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. He kissed her. “I have information from Annja and Suzela.”

  She stiffened, but only for an instant. Wondering, he realized with anger that swiftly turned to sadness, how he’d obtained this information. “I didn’t,” he said. “Imena, I don’t think I could.”

  She lowered her gaze, then looked up again, her eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry, Maxime. I don’t think that anymore, not really.”

  If she didn’t think that of him, she would not have stiffened, but he accepted the apology, not wanting to argue with her, not now. “Thank you.”

  “The information?” she asked, clearly not wanting to argue, either.

  “Suzela can speak, did you know?”

  Imena shook her head. “I’m glad.”

  “She’s a cautious woman, and from what I overheard, I think she’s the true leader of that pair.”

  “Tell me.”

  Maxime related how he’d seen the two women with Chetri, skipping over the more intimate aspects of the conversation. He finished by telling her, “So the pirates weren’t sent after me. Captain Litvinova never mentioned anyone from the duchies, except for Diamanta.”

  Imena stretched her neck first to one side, then to the other. “So someone else entirely is trying to kill you. Someone tied to Lady Diamanta.”

  “Yes, the pirates were only trying to kill you. Well, not trying to kill you exactly, but pursuing you and your knowledge. I feel much better now.”

  Imena snorted a laugh, then said, “We still don’t know who’s plotting against you in the duchies.”

  “But now we have enough information to begin a few inquiries. We need to visit a port, Imena.”

  “Yes. We need current news. Yes, I think we must take the risk.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SYLVIE S
HARPENED HER KNIFE WHILE ALYS OPENED the letter. “It’s from— Oh,” she said, abruptly disappointed. “I can’t read it.” Then she looked over at Sylvie, eyes shining. “It’s ciphered!”

  Sylvie put aside her knife and wiped oil from her hands on a clean rag. “Give it to me.”

  “If you show me the cipher, I could—”

  Sylvie gestured. Alys handed over the letter, then gathered up the sharpening stone and the little flask of oil while trying to look over Sylvie’s shoulder.

  The cipher was a variant on one Sylvie had been taught by the eunuch Kaspar, who was Duchess Camille’s chief guard. Sylvie had used the cipher often enough with her sometime lover, a brothel owner called Karl Fouet, that she could read it easily without recourse to pen and paper.

  My lioness: Our conspirator is not wise. My first inquiries among the usual suspects led to tales of rewards offered for secret entry to the ducal castle. I enlisted our friends Kaspar and Arno to gently question those who’d spread the tales. Two of them were in port on the night in question, and were the originators. They were paid by a courtier who attempted to dress as a merchant. I recognized their description easily enough. The man has a mole high on his left cheekbone and blue eyes. He’s visited my brothel. He will do so no more. It was Lord Odell. I’ve retained the witnesses until Lady Gisele can send an escort for them.

  Scribbled at the bottom, in a more private cipher, he’d added:

  It has been too long, my lioness. You must come and visit me when this is concluded, and I will entertain you to the best of my ability. I’ve created a new room in the lower levels that is completely dark and lined entirely in silk velvet. I am sure you will make use of it most creatively.

  Your Karl

  Once the delicious ideas for Karl’s new room had finished swirling through her mind, Sylvie said, “So.”

  Alys stopped what she was doing in midmotion. If she’d been a puppy, her ears would have pricked. Sylvie considered withholding the information, but it would be unnecessarily cruel, and she needed Alys to help her.

  “My contacts have identified our culprit.”

  “Not the mysterious Raoul,” Alys said. She had formed her own theories, and shared them with Sylvie whenever she was allowed. Sylvie forgave her for it, because Alys’s well-practiced look of stupid innocence had been so successful among the palace servants.

  She said, “No. The culprit is lord high steward of the Duke’s Council.”

  “Odell!” Alys bounced on her toes. “The man Her Grace Camille did not like!”

  “Madame is very astute,” Sylvie agreed. “Now we must prove his motive.”

  “Money,” Alys said.

  “That is no doubt part of it. It’s clear he’s ambitious. But I suspect something more is at the heart of it. He’s been too reckless for it to be otherwise.”

  “Tell me what I’m to find out next.”

  Sylvie tapped the letter against her leg. “First, I will destroy this letter. Second, I will write a note to Odell, which you will deliver.”

  Alys curtsied. “Yes, madame.”

  Sylvie decided that Raoul could be trusted with at least some of the truth. After leaving Alys to deliver the forged note, she found him in his chambers and invited him for a stroll in the gardens, where she outlined her investigation and requested his aid. And accompanied him to the gazebo afterward.

  She had the key to the plot, she knew it through intuition. If Sylvie waited a little longer, to see the outcome of her forged note, she would have proof.

  The following day, she and Raoul sat together at an outdoor table in the palace garden. Courtiers circled the white-graveled paths, chatting and eating and drinking hot sweet mead, seemingly aimless. Sylvie knew better. Intrigue scented the air more richly than the roses. She forked a bite of cake into her mouth and murmured to Raoul, “Stare into my eyes.”

  “What?” Raoul said. His mouth was full of cake, and a crumb of almond icing clung to the corner of his lips. She brushed it off with her thumb.

  “Yes, like that. I’m watching Lord Odell, but I wish to appear as if I’m completely involved with you.”

  Raoul finished his mead. A liveried servant instantly appeared to pour him more from a silver pot with a long spout. Steam rose from his goblet as the servant retreated. When they were private once more, he said, “I’ve told you, Lady Diamanta won’t have him. I’ve been watching these past three days.”

  “And that is the answer,” Sylvie said. She took another leisurely bite of cake, licking every scrap of icing from the silver tines of her fork. “She won’t have him. He is angry.”

  “That has nothing to do with your duke.”

  “Not my duke,” she reminded him. “It doesn’t matter. He can be blamed.”

  Raoul sipped more mead. “When she wouldn’t have me, I found the next beautiful woman and gave her free use of my person.” He grinned.

  “Not all men are as wise as you are,” Sylvie noted. She laid her hand atop his gloved one. “Hush. There she is.”

  Lady Diamanta appeared from behind a bush cut into the shape of a stag. Her long blond hair was dressed atop her head in pinned curls adorned with fuchsia ribbons; her pale pink gown, of thin wool with a slight sheen, began high on her throat and cascaded to the pointed toes of her boots. A chain around her neck suspended an enamel pendant against her large, shapely breasts; Sylvie appreciated her bosom for a few moments, then blinked and peered more closely when she recognized the pendant’s shape. It was one of Captain Leung’s recent imports from the western lands. She’d seen that pendant, or one very like it, when last she’d visited Maxime’s duchy. His aunt Gisele had demonstrated how the top slid to one side, revealing a tiny casket of rare balsam mixed with purified sheep fat, which sounded revolting but smelled divine. Gisele had said the concoction faded all sorts of imperfections of the skin, bumps and scars alike.

  A valuable item, and rare. Maxime must have given the balsam to Diamanta as a gift when he’d rejected her as his bride. It was a motive. Not for murder, but instead a motive that implied Diamanta had an interest in Maxime’s survival, even if he would not marry her. Diamanta might even be better off without a husband, as she would not have to share her monetary gains.

  It came down to money. There would be more money to be made if Diamanta could deal with Maxime and his fleet of trading ships. With Maxime dead, who knew what the king would do, and whether Diamanta would have any chance to insinuate herself?

  Raoul squeezed her hand hard. Sylvie blinked at him. He murmured, “You were staring. I’m the one who’s supposed to stare at her.”

  “She does have a most impressive bosom,” Sylvie noted.

  “I don’t think you were looking at her bosom. What do you suspect? I still don’t think she would involve herself in an assassination plot.”

  “But a plot involving commerce?” she asked.

  Raoul nodded. “Oh, yes.” He grinned. “She is amazing. Before I took her contract, I read some of her previous contracts with importers in the peninsula. She took every legal advantage.”

  Sylvie said, “I think her greed marks her innocence.”

  Raoul frowned. “I’m not sure I see your logic.”

  “In the matter of assassination,” she clarified. Movement caught her eye, and she said, “Hush. There he is.”

  Lord Odell was a tall man, elegantly dressed, with long wavy hair he habitually wore loose. His sideburns emphasized the jut of his cheekbones and the mole on the left one. At the moment, he was striding rapidly toward Lady Diamanta, who’d just accepted a goblet of spiced mead from a servitor.

  Sylvie murmured, “Watch her. I will watch him.”

  Odell did not speak to Diamanta as far as Sylvie could see; he simply strode to her side, seized her upper arm and kissed her.

  A moment later, he flew backward amid a spray of hot mead. His velvet-covered rear skidded along the fine white gravel.

  Conversations ceased abruptly.

  Then a crisp, authoritative
voice snapped, “What’s going on here?” and the silent onlookers froze in place, some with goblets half lifted.

  King Julien had made an appearance.

  He was flanked by two guards, enormous men carrying swords who wore leather jerkins and vambraces. The leather had been dyed purple and inset with silver in the royal crest, an eagle bearing a sword and a scroll in its talons. The crest also adorned each guard’s helmet.

  Julien himself was, Sylvie noted with surprise, not overly tall or muscular, and he wore spectacles like a clerk. When she’d last seen him, at Maxime’s ascension to duke, he’d seemed much larger in his formal robes and headgear. His face had been bare. Seen close to, she might not have recognized him except for his guards. Julien’s tunic and trousers fit him beautifully, and his tall boots gleamed in the way only extremely expensive boots could gleam, but he wore no jewelry save a signet ring, and his plain brown hair had been cropped almost as short as a soldier’s. It stuck out at undignified angles.

  Sylvie remembered she had intended to watch Odell, and looked back at him just as he scrambled to his feet, his expression blank. Diamanta scowled. When Julien’s gaze found her, she tossed her empty goblet to the ground near Odell’s feet. “You’ve interrupted the entertainment, cousin,” she said.

  Julien’s gaze snapped to Odell. “Why are you here, Odell? I left you preparing letters.” He turned away briefly, and addressed the courtiers. “Get back to enjoying yourselves!”

  Amid the rising hum of movement and conversation, Sylvie realized she might not be able to hear what transpired. She slid from her seat, stopping Raoul’s similar movement with a glance. Carrying her goblet, she ducked behind a bush cut into the shape of a hound, close to the king. One of Julien’s guards stared at her, easily able to see her over the top of the branches. She smiled flirtatiously, licking her lips. The guard scowled, but did not ask her to move away.

  Odell stepped closer to the king, bowed deeply then straightened again, clasping his hands behind his back. Diamanta seemed about to move off, but was summoned closer, as well, with one glance from Julien. The guards turned their backs on the small group, effectively shutting away outsiders.