The Emerald Sea

by Richelle Mead

  “Y’look just like her,” he muttered. “She always said whiskey’d be the end of me.”

  “I’m guessing a bullet was,” I said, leaning over him to peer out. Orla and some Icori were gathered below, and upon seeing me, they began shouting, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The man’s head knocked against my arm, his eyes closed, and I gently shook him as I slid my arm under his arm. “Stay with me—what’s your name?”

  When he didn’t respond, I thought he might already be dead. Then, after more coughing: “Robert.”

  “Okay, Robert. I’m going to need you to stand. We’ve still got a clear shot for that ladder and the front door. I know it’ll hurt, but—”

  As I tried to get him to rise, a figure appeared in the barn’s doorway downstairs, and suddenly, Gideon was racing toward us. Covering his mouth, he climbed up and was soon beside us. “Tamsin! Are you okay?”

  “Gideon! You shouldn’t have come—never mind. Help me get him out.”

  Tears leaking from his eyes, Gideon put his arm under the man too. The attacker cried out in pain as we forced him to stand, and I murmured apologies over and over. A crash from below jerked my attention away, and I watched in horror as part of the burning side of the barn collapsed inward. Not only did it block our way out, it sent sparks and ash everywhere, igniting places that had been untouched.

  “Back, back!” I exclaimed. Half-dragging the man, we retreated toward the window and crouched down as flames raced over the barn’s lower floor.

  “Tamsin, look!” Gideon cried.

  Outside, on the ground, our friend the trapper came hurrying up with a large, bundled hide. Quickly, he and some other Icori began unfolding it.

  Rubbing my eyes, I said, “Looks like you don’t need to take the stairs after all—Robert? No, don’t go to sleep! Hang on.” The men had the hide unfolded now, and other Icori were grabbing hold of its sides. “Just a bit longer. Tell me more about Molly. Or the whiskey. How it’s your end.”

  “Would’n’a gotten shot if I was sober.” His eyes fluttered open and then closed. “But they were s’posed to be gone and—” He coughed again and didn’t finish.

  “Robert?” I asked. “Robert?” I put my hand to his throat to check for a pulse but already knew there’d be none.

  Gideon gently closed the man’s eyes and eased him to the floor, murmuring, “Ariniel, light the way.”

  “Ariniel, light the way,” I echoed, surprised at the grief I felt for someone I didn’t know.

  A shout from below drew us back, and we saw that the Icori had the large hide open and ready. Six men stood around it and positioned themselves in a spot below the window that would be easy to aim for. I started to tell Gideon that we should still push Robert’s body out, but a brilliant flash suddenly lit up my periphery. Sparks had finally landed on the hay, and fire instantly flared across the loft. It was at my feet in the blink of an eye. Leaving Robert, Gideon and I both climbed up into the window frame.

  “Jump!” I ordered Gideon.

  “You first.”

  “Damn it, Gideon, this is no time for— Ahh!”

  So help me, Gideon pushed me out the window. I screamed the whole way down but landed safely, if not gracefully, biting my tongue and bouncing a bit when I struck the hide. One of the Icori pulled me off, and then they shouted for Gideon. He jumped, just as the whole building began to crumple.

  The sudden spread of the fire to the loft was too much for the barn. The flames had already consumed most of one long side, and with the deterioration of this end, the structural integrity gave out. The Icori saw the barn’s collapse coming and didn’t even bother getting Gideon out of the hide when he landed. They just wrapped him up and carried him along as they ran away. We managed to flee the worst of it as the barn fell in upon itself. Wood and ash and cinders spread out in a great cloud. I dropped to my knees and covered my face, not getting up until someone touched my shoulder.

  “Tamsin, are you all right?”

  Gideon put an arm around me and led me to where the other Icori were assembling. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, all in Icori, and I couldn’t really tell what was going on. “I’m okay,” I told Gideon, covering a cough. “I just— Gideon! Look at you!”

  Soot darkened his face, and nearly all of his coat’s left sleeve had been burned away. The once white shirt underneath was browned and tattered, but the flames must have been smothered before getting much farther.

  Gideon looked down in surprise, apparently noticing his state for the first time. “Blessed be Uros. That could have been a lot worse.”

  Seeing he was otherwise okay, I felt no remorse at lightly punching his other arm. “Not by much! Six! What were you thinking?”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I saw a clear way to get him in and out.”

  “And I saw a clear way to come save you,” Gideon retorted.

  “I didn’t need saving! Well . . . yes, but not when you first decided to come. You should’ve stayed out here where it was bloody safe!”

  His eyes widened. “How could I do that and leave you in danger, Tamsin? I love you.”

  I stared, unable to answer both because of shock and renewed coughing. When I recovered myself, I could only stare. Gideon, at a loss as well, stared back.

  We were saved—sort of—when Orla strode up with her hands on her hips. “Tamsin Wright, if you were one of my people—”

  “I’m not,” I interrupted, slowly turning from Gideon. “And I’m okay, so don’t scold me. I had to try and get that man out, but his wound was too serious. He died before I jumped.”

  Orla shook her head, angry but also relieved. “I’m just glad you didn’t die. Either of you. Getting us a Lorandian hostage wasn’t worth the risk.”

  “I did it because he was human, not because he was Lorandian . . .” Amidst all the panic, I’d almost overlooked what I had noticed in my foolhardy stunt. “I talked to him . . .”

  “Yes?” said Orla. Beyond her, I heard shouts as Lieutenant Harper’s men joined us, returning from scouting for any attackers.

  I blinked away more smoke as I replayed that last scrap of conversation I’d had with the man in the loft. His name, his accent. None of it was made up. He’d been on death’s doorway, barely able to speak, let alone craft a conspiracy. “And he actually wasn’t Lorandian. He was Osfridian.” My heart sank as I looked into the faces of those who’d supported my theory that Lorandians were staging attacks in disguise. “This attack actually was carried out by Osfridians.”

  CHAPTER 29

  IT WAS RAINING WHEN WE REACHED KERDAUN, THE END of our journey on the East Sister. Kerdaun was a small village that made its living as a crossroads for travelers. Not far to the west was Kershid, home of Orla’s betrothed. Sail farther south, and the river split, with one branch eventually going to the sea and the other to the Heart’s Blood. And, of course, less than a day to the east was what I had come here for: the border of Denham Colony.

  Most of Orla’s people were traveling on to Kershid. Our river party had included a handful of non-Icori, and they were all going different ways. Some were taking the road to Cape Triumph with my friends and the Gray Gull’s crew, and we pooled our resources together to hire wagons and horses in Kerdaun to transport our collective goods. The Kerdaun Icori had arrangements with colonists in a town farther into Denham to tag-team these sorts of escorts.

  As our belongings were transferred from the barges to wagons, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head to shield some of the rain. It was a coarse, black wool cloak given to me by Bernard Glover when my old one had been damaged in the fire. The flowered dress Jago had given me had likewise been burned past repair, and I wore a bluish-gray one in the Heirs’ style. Dinah, with triumphant condescension, had given it to me, saying we’d settle the cost in Cape Triumph. “No,” I’d told her. “You can have it back as
soon as we arrive.” Orla had offered me replacement clothing too, but as much as I loathed Grashond fashion, it was still easier for me to wear in Denham than something obviously Icori.

  A couple of crates were set down next to me, and I moved out of the way. These were labeled in both Icori runes and Osfridian, and I did a double take when I saw them.

  Jacob Robinson

  Orchard End

  Rushwick

  Denham Colony

  The Icori workers who had deposited them were already headed off for their next load. “Wait,” I called. “What are these? Why are they going to Jago?”

  “Because they’re his.” A hunter who’d traveled with us walked up to me. He lived on the outskirts of west Grashond and had been introduced to me simply as Mister Elkhart. “I’m making sure they get dropped off at his place since he couldn’t come.”

  I ran my hands over the wet letters. Just touching Jago’s name sent chills through me. “His place . . .”

  “Well, almost his place. Over in Rushwick. He kind of owns it, kind of leases it. He should have most of it paid after this season’s trade, assuming this delay doesn’t slow anything down.”

  “I’m happy for him.” I dropped my hand. “He’s worked hard for it. He’ll be able to start his horse business soon.”

  “Yup. Genius idea, that. Most wouldn’t have the patience to see it through. Easier to raise and sell ordinary workhorses. But as this country gets more settled, the rich start looking for something to do. Fancy racehorses will be all the rage, and he’ll be on the cutting edge of it.” Mister Elkhart winked at me. “You’re off to marry some rich fellow, aren’t you? Maybe Robinson’ll cut you a deal on a horse or two.”

  I looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, he must have a soft spot for the lot of you—or just likes your pretty faces. It’s because of you girls he didn’t come, right? He gave you his spots?”

  His words brought up the memory of Jago going to a hunter he knew, and I dragged my gaze from the address. “You’re . . . Louis, right? Jago’s friend?”

  “Louis Elkhart, at your service.” He gave me a mock bow. “And if you’re his friend, you’re my friend. I’m not taking the road all the way to Cape Triumph, but if you need anything before I turn north, let me know.”

  He left, but I lingered near the boxes until they were finally loaded up. By then, the Kerniall Icori were ready to go on their way, and Orla summoned me.

  “Farewell again, Tamsin.” Her smile was as wry as ever. “It doesn’t seem like many things have gone your way in the time I’ve known you. I hope that changes.”

  I summoned a mental image of Merry’s face and smiled. “Only one thing has to go my way. I’ll deal with the rest. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be standing this close to Denham if not for you. I’ll always be grateful for that . . . but I’ve never understood why you did it.”

  “Impulse? Instinct? I don’t know what to call it. I was amused watching all you pretty little birds flutter and fret on the way to Constancy, but when I started watching the way they flocked around you, I was intrigued. It’s like I told you before—you’re good with people. That’s going to become increasingly important in the near future, I think.” Her blue eyes lifted to the bustling mix of Icori and Osfridians going about their business. “I remember what you said: ‘My conscience isn’t contingent on someone else’s.’ It brings to mind an old proverb of ours.”

  “‘If you’re on the path of right, and someone crosses it with wrong, you don’t need to turn. Build a bridge over their path and continue on your way.’”

  She turned back to me in amazement and then burst out laughing. “Jago told you that one?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s what we’re going to need—all of us—if we’re ever going to get a lasting peace. Listening to each other will be key, but overcoming grudges and a history of wrongs has to be in there too. That’s why I thought you’d be a useful person to help. And that was a hunch that paid off.”

  “Did it?” I asked pointedly.

  Her smile faded a little. “No one blames you for what happened at that settlement, Tamsin. And just because Osfridians attacked there doesn’t mean Lorandians didn’t attack the others in the north.”

  I couldn’t muster an immediate response. The fire at the fishing camp had cast a pall over the rest of our trip south. She was right that no one had blamed me—or even the other Osfridians traveling with us—but I could see some of the Icori looking at us a little differently. Those who had been open and sociable earlier in the trip now became guarded.

  “None of it matters if it can’t be proved, and the only thing we have proof of is that the Lorandians robbed me in Grashond. That won’t stop your people from going to war if pushed far enough.”

  “Then I’ll have to stop them . . . unless it’s warranted. But something still feels off to me. This mystery isn’t settled yet. I’ll miss having you looking into it, but I’m also happy for your success.” She smoothed back hair that had escaped her sloppy bun, but that just made a few more pop out. “If I can ever do anything for you, let me know. You have a lot of friends and admirers here.”

  I shrugged. “Oh, people just like me because I ran into a burning building.”

  Orla laughed and startled me with a giant hug. “Goodbye, Tamsin. I hope you find happiness. Ah—sorry. I got ash on your cheek. No, the other one.”

  I rubbed at where my face had brushed her jacket in the hug. She’d worn the same clothes since the fire, and everything was covered in dirt and ash. “Are you going to change before Kershid?” I asked delicately.

  “You mean before I meet my betrothed?” She glanced at her sooty attire and ran a hand over her hair again, messing it up further. “No. If he can’t take me like this, then he shouldn’t bother taking me at all. Safe journeys.”

  * * *

  Traveling by road was jarring after the river ride. True, there were no rapids to deal with or captains scolding us for moving around too much, but our progress was so slow by comparison. Our caravan lumbered along—people, animals, and wagons creeping toward Cape Triumph. A few days after Kerdaun, Louis Elkhart bid me farewell when we reached a highway branching north.

  “Going to drop Robinson’s stuff off in Rushwick on my way to Cotesville. I’ll eventually swing through Cape Triumph later in the spring, so maybe we’ll cross paths. If a fine lady like you will even acknowledge the likes of me.”

  “Of course I will.” I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which thoroughly delighted him and horrified the Heirs. He separated his wagon from the rest and turned his horses onto the lonely looking road. Watching them disappear made me feel like I was getting even farther from Jago.

  A few miles later, we reached the small town that served as Kernaud’s counterpart. Here, the Icori who’d been hired on at the East Sister turned everything over to colonial guides and went back home. The Heirs and a few of the others in our caravan were thrilled to be free of Icori. Also joining us was a handful of travelers who’d been staying at the local inn and were on their way east.

  Among that group was a young man named Frank Brennan, who came from a wealthy planting family based in Cape Triumph. And suddenly, it was like someone had thrown cold water over those of us in the Glittering Court. We’d never forgotten why we’d come to Adoria. We’d talked about it often on the ship, in Constancy, in Kerniall. It was always with us, a fixed star leading the way to our future. But even if you could say with absolute certainty you were going to be the wife of one of Cape Triumph’s wealthy and elite men, that sentiment could feel a little empty if you were scrubbing floors in Dinah Cole’s kitchen.

  My friends had always fawned over Gideon, flirting in a subdued way and trying to earn his admiration. It was understandable, given his kindness and how he looked. But, as had been discussed that very
first day in Constancy, he was never viewed as a real marriage candidate. Frank Brennan was.

  He had money. He had a powerful name. He had cultivated tastes. He had beautiful riding clothes. And he knew who we were.

  “You’re . . . the lost Glittering Court girls? No! I thought you drowned at sea.”

  “Mister Thorn didn’t get my letter?” I asked. My heart sank.

  “Not that I’ve heard of, though maybe that’s changed while I was out of town. Last I knew, everyone thought you were gone . . . for good.”

  That grim thought gave us pause, me especially. After all, I was the only one with a lot of friends back in Cape Triumph. This group had never met Adelaide, Mira, or anyone else from Blue Spring. Knowing people believe you were dead, gone from this world . . . it was chilling. And heartbreaking.

  “Did they give us a funeral, at least?” Polly asked. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to be funny. “Or a nice memorial?”

  “If they did, it was nothing public,” Frank said. He was wearing a green brocade riding coat and led a lively black stallion. “Maybe they did among themselves. Nothing really seemed to change the way they went on, though. I was traveling when they had their opening ball, but my friends said it was quite the affair.”

  We got as many details out of him as he had about the Glittering Court’s current status. He’d heard of a couple of engagements—one was a Blue Spring girl—and he knew who Adelaide was, which didn’t surprise me. When I asked about Mira, he said he didn’t know her. When I added that she was Sirminican, he said, “Oh, yes. I heard about her.” And that was it.

  Frank was never alone for the rest of the trip. When he didn’t have a small flock of admirers fluttering around him, he’d take the time to walk alone with some girl or another. He realized quickly the lucky position he was in. He was in the market for a wife, and he had us all to himself before we went on display for the rest of the city’s bachelors. It was almost comical. He showed off to my friends; they showed off to him. They—demurely—investigated him and his prospects, and he tried to find out about each of us.