The Emerald Sea

by Richelle Mead

  The passion and anguish on his face did move me. No matter what had happened, I didn’t want him to suffer. But the thought of me going back to him was ludicrous.

  “Gideon, I already get to assist in a wondrous creation—the forming of a colony. If you want my advice, don’t wait to join Westhaven. Spend your savings on buying into it now, not on paying off a bridal contract. Go. Be happy. That’s what I plan to do.”

  He wilted. “Isn’t there any way I can change your mind? I’ll do practically anything!”

  I wondered if he realized the impact of his word choice. Practically anything. Jago had been willing to do everything.

  “I’m fixed on my path,” I said. “And now you need to find yours.”

  “Tamsin . . .” Gideon reached toward me, and I stepped back. “I really do love you.”

  I examined his face, the raw emotion burning in his eyes. “But not enough,” I said. “Goodbye, Gideon.”

  * * *

  Warren was full of apologies when he finally showed up that evening, explaining how business and bureaucracy had tied him up longer than expected. Two of his associates were with him and quickly loaded my trunk into a waiting carriage. “We’ll have to make part of our trip in the dark,” Warren added, “but we’ll still arrive tonight. I hope it’s not too exhausting.”

  Jasper answered for me: “No need to worry. Our Tamsin can handle anything.”

  Mira stood near him, trying to hide her sadness, but her dark eyes gave her away. I wished I could have offered a longer goodbye, but there was little to be said that we hadn’t already shared earlier. I gave her a hug, told her I’d see her soon, and then followed Warren and his men.

  I’d grown well acquainted with Cape Triumph in my time here and had often seen the busy part of the port—the section of the bay where ships going to and from Osfrid or coastal colonies docked. Farther west along the bay, a smaller cluster of buildings along the water managed ships sailing inland, not to the ocean. Here, we boarded the boat bound for Hadisen.

  When I’d heard how only small vessels could dock on the far side of the bay, I’d worried we’d be traveling in a dinghy. But Warren’s boat was about forty feet long and even had a small enclosed bit of cabin on its deck. The cabin had a partition dividing it into two sections. A few chairs sat inside one half, and Warren urged me to make myself comfortable. Gazing at the red and purple sky of sunset, I told him I’d stay out on the deck for a little while. It was wide and flat, with plenty of space to sit, and being near the water was already cooling me off.

  The boat had a crew of two, and the captain had a hushed conversation with Warren before we set off. He pointed at the sky, then gestured at the bay. After a little more back and forth, the captain shrugged and ordered his crewmate to start untying.

  Warren and his two men, Lawrence and Earl, sat near me and watched the shoreline depart. Shrugging out of his jacket, Warren said, “Forgive the informality, but this heat is cooking me alive. The captain says it’s going to cool off soon, though. He expects it to rain—but that cabin is snug and dry. And once we arrive on the other side, we’ll have a covered carriage too.”

  “I’m surprised you can get in a boat at all, Miss Wright,” Lawrence told me. “After what you went through at sea.”

  “Well, I still arrived safely, didn’t I? And I did a lot of water travel in Grashond, so I’ve gotten used to it again.” The shore had become nothing but a black edge around the water now, dotted with the lights of buildings and streetlamps. “It helps being able to see land. At sea, there’s nothing but water and more water.”

  Earl shuddered. “I’ve never left Adoria. Can’t say I want to.”

  “Of course you do.” Warren gave him an easy smile. “You’ve got to see the old country. And Evaria too. I spent almost two years over there touring the continent. You see the old cathedrals of Lorandy and statues of Ruva, and it’ll make Adoria seem like an upstart.”

  “All the more reason not to go,” said Earl. “I’ll keep my happy delusions.”

  We laughed at that and discussed various light subjects as the voyage continued. Warren had a picnic dinner of sorts for us, and there was an almost party-like atmosphere to it all. I felt like I had wings, like I could have launched off and flown to Adoria. Everything I wanted was within my grasp.

  The weather soon cooled, and the promised rain began, just a sprinkle at first. I traded my plumed hat for a hooded velvet cloak. It was around that same time that the boat began angling toward the shore, and I looked over at Warren in concern. “Is something wrong?” I asked. We were heading south, when Hadisen was due west across the bay.

  “No, no. I should have mentioned it earlier—we’re picking up two additional passengers. Associates of mine. I’m sorry for the added delay when we’re already late. You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m just fine. You take care of what you need to.” The wind had picked up by then, and a low rumble of thunder made me clench at the railing. Warren patted my shoulder.

  “We’re not in the middle of the ocean, and this is no tempest. Everything’s going to be okay, Tamsin. May I call you that?”

  “Of course,” I answered, smiling. He strolled over to the captain and had a murmured conversation. Because of the late hour, they had to navigate in the darkness and were questioning the small port where Warren’s associates waited. They found it, though, bringing us up to a long wharf in front of a small fishing village. Lights shone in the windows of scattered houses, and two men in cloaks waited at the wharf’s end. One held a lantern and waved a hand in greeting as the other caught a line tossed by the captain’s assistant.

  The two new passengers stepped aboard, hunched over and holding their cloaks. As the captain shoved off, Warren shouted brief introductions over the increasing rain. “Tamsin, this is Mister Smith and Mister Carpenter. Gentlemen, Miss Wright.”

  We all stammered out appropriate greetings, though I barely heard theirs, and mine likely sounded mumbled too. A gust of wind threatened to rip off my hood, and I pulled it low, huddling in upon myself.

  Warren leaned his hand down to mine as he steered me toward the cabin. “No need for you to get drenched. There’s a tiny cabin with a bed you can rest on. We’ll be in shortly and hopefully won’t bother you while we go over business in the dining area. Earl, take her in, and see that she’s settled.”

  I started to follow, pausing a moment to watch the captain and the other crew member as they fought with the lines of the sail in the lashing rain. Inside the main cabin, Earl told me, “I heard Mister Doyle talking to them. The captain says it’ll be bumpy but that we’ll be okay if we just keep riding the swell of the waves. This boat’s low and solid enough that it’s not likely to tip.”

  “Not likely to?” I asked uneasily.

  Earl grinned. “It’s fine. He says the biggest problem is just staying on course. Coming down here meant getting closer to some of the southern buoys than he’d like, so now’s he got a job ahead of him to fight the wind and pull us back out.”

  “What are the buoys for?” I asked, rubbing my hands together. This small cabin contained only a simple table with benches and a lantern, but it was warm and dry and wonderful.

  “They mark the shoals and shallow rocks on this half of the bay. They’re dangerous for bigger ships—not us. But we need to be well north of them to stay on the course to Hadisen. Here you are.” Earl opened a small door that slipped from his hand when the ship suddenly pitched sharply to the starboard side. Thunder boomed outside, and the door swung out and clattered against the wall. He winced and grabbed the door again. “Sorry. Let’s try again.”

  I peered inside the second cabin. There wasn’t much to it, just a pallet big enough for one person, which took up most of the room. I thanked Earl, and he told me to let them know if I needed anything. I pulled the door shut and couldn’t quite make it catch. Leaning closer, I saw part
of the latch had broken, probably when it slammed against the wall just now. I got the door to stay shut as best it could, though it left about an inch gap. No matter. Warren might think I’d be more comfortable here, but I wasn’t sure I could actually stand being in a room without windows for very long.

  I stretched out on the thin mattress, which was more comfortable than it looked. The rest of the men stomped inside the other room, and the wind’s volume rose momentarily until they closed the outer door. I stared up at the wooden ceiling and listened to the combined sounds of rain, wind, thunder, and the others’ patchy conversation. I tried not to think about how similar this was to the Gray Gull, but it was impossible not to. Lying in here, waiting, felt just like when I’d sat with Winnifred in our cabin and prayed to Ariniel. Maybe I should do that now. Would she listen, or was she tired of helping me?

  The memory of a different storm flitted through my memory—the blizzard in Grashond. I found myself smiling as I recalled Dinah insinuating that my friends and I had endured so many trials because we were being punished. And then Jago had responded: Doesn’t seem like a punishment if they keep coming through it just fine. Maybe it’s more like a sign of favor, the way the angels look out for them. Maybe they’re carrying some divine message for the rest of us and don’t even realize it.

  “Oh, Jago,” I murmured. The pain I kept pushed down in my heart reared up without warning. I missed Jago. I missed his wit and how easy it was to talk to him, without any need of the caution and formality that had governed my social interactions these last few weeks. I missed his kindness and open nature. I missed the way he’d held me against his chest in bed, how his fingers had stroked my hair while I’d listened to his heartbeat.

  I covered my eyes, trying to banish tears and memories. I couldn’t let longing for the impossible keep me from a future so full of promise. I couldn’t.

  “. . . can sail across a blasted bay, then they can raid one ship!”

  I jerked upright as Warren’s voice cut through the din of the storm. He’d raised it in anger but dropped it promptly, returning conversation to its previous volume. I scooted over to the door and leaned near the gap, forgetting all my mother’s lessons against eavesdropping.

  “. . . boats are small,” Lawrence was saying.

  “He knows what to do,” a new voice said. “That’s too big a prize to pass up. He knows we won’t get a chance at that much ammunition again, and he always sees a job through.”

  The unfamiliar speaker must have been either Mister Carpenter or Mister Smith. I frowned, listening to the deep voice’s quality. Those surnames were solidly common Osfridian ones, but this man spoke with a distinctly Lorandian accent.

  “Which is more than can be said for some people,” Warren snapped. “If you’d done yours, the northern army would have been on the move a long time ago.”

  “We did do ours!” exclaimed the Lorandian voice. “Both sides, just as discussed. One of my men nearly got killed attacking that farmstead, and we even got some ridiculous Icori clothes when we hit Grashond. I don’t know why the army didn’t go. No one suspected.”

  “Someone obviously did. The regiment up there met with Icori leaders to investigate the ‘misunderstanding’ and held off taking any action.”

  “What? Well, when we go back—”

  “No need,” Warren interrupted. “My bride-to-be did what you couldn’t. The north will be going soon, and Campbell’s going to take most of the fort’s number south. She helped do that too, though it also sounds like the attacks our agents did there and in the central colonies were a little more effective.”

  The Lorandian speaker’s voice came out as a growl. “I told you, we did what we were supposed to—”

  Another huge wave tossed us around, and with it, the door’s faulty latch gave way. It swung open again, smacking the wall loudly, and I gripped the doorway so that I didn’t tumble out. That left me in the awkward and embarrassing position of crouching right there by the door.

  I stared stupidly at Warren and felt the others watching me. After what felt like an agonizing time, Warren said, “Hello, Tamsin. Are you okay? I’m sorry if your rest was disturbed.”

  An uneasy tone in his voice made me realize he was more concerned about the notion of being overheard than that I might have been purposely trying to listen. Swallowing, I got to my feet and attempted a cheery laugh. “No, don’t worry, it’s hard to really rest with that racket out there! But the room was getting stuffy, and I . . .”

  The words died from my lips. Until that moment, I’d been focusing on Warren. Now, my eyes lifted from him to the others. Earl, Lawrence. A lanky, unfamiliar man in a brown cloak over worker’s clothes must have been one of the associates. I hadn’t really been able to see their faces outside. Beside him sat another man, much bigger in build, with a bushy blond beard. And he, as it turned out, was familiar.

  He was the same Lorandian who’d challenged me and Alan and then had later appeared at Lo Canne. The man clearly hadn’t gotten a good look at me on the deck, and his eyes widened as recognition shot through him. I shrank back instinctively, though of course, I had nowhere to go.

  Warren noted our reactions. “Do you know each other?”

  My tongue felt thick, and even if I could’ve spoken, I had no idea what to say. What I knew with certainty was that there was no good answer I could give. After a few more moments of shock, he lumbered to his feet and pointed. “She—she was there! In Grashond!”

  Perplexed, Warren glanced between us. “I know. She came to Cape Triumph by way of the north.”

  Flushing, the man shook his head. “She was in Constancy! We held up some of those Heirs, and she was with them. I know her face.”

  “I do too,” said the other man slowly, also speaking with a Lorandian accent. He stood beside his partner, forehead wrinkled in thought. “Lo Canne. She was there with that trader . . . Robinson. Jacob Robinson, right? But she was Icori . . . wasn’t she?”

  From the larger man’s startled expression, he hadn’t noticed me at the trading camp. I had tried to stay out of his sight then, never expecting that someone else would get a good look at me and later cross my path.

  “She was with the Heirs,” Warren said. “But Lo Canne? That trading post? She wasn’t there . . . were you, Tamsin?”

  “Lo—what? A trading post? I ran into traders up north, I told you that. But I don’t know that place. Is that the name of a company?”

  My words were a perfect mix of confusion and guilelessness, but I hesitated too long in responding. I could see it in Warren’s eyes. He knew I was lying, and a rush of emotions flashed over his face at that realization. Panic. Uncertainty. And sadness.

  “I think you and I should go outside.” He stood up and gave a small shake of his head when Earl and Lawrence did too. “Perhaps some air will help.”

  “All right then,” I said, forcing a smile. “I won’t mind seeing how everything’s shaping up out there.”

  “Mister Doyle,” said the bearded Lorandian, his eyes narrowed.

  “I know,” said Warren with a sigh. “I know.”

  He opened the door for me, and as I stepped out, I saw the others inside sit down and exchange grim looks. On deck, the captain and sailor barely noticed us as they hurried about. Most of their work was in the stern, controlling the rudder and sails, with occasional trips to the starboard side of the bow to check our trajectory. Warren led me to the port side of the bow, where the cabin mostly blocked us from view but not from the rain.

  “Tamsin,” Warren called over the wind, “I’m sure you heard some pretty strange-sounding things in there. A lot of odd things happen in stressful situations.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Lightning flashed, the brief illumination showing a tight set to his features. “What exactly did you hear us talking about?”

  “Not much of anything, to be honest. T
oo much noise from the storm.”

  Warren did nothing for several moments, and as the rain continued pouring down, I was about to ask if we could go back in when he said, “Tamsin, I can almost believe that, looking at your face now. There’s no fear, mostly irritation at the rain. And the answer was good. Insisting you’d heard absolutely nothing wouldn’t ring true. Maybe you really didn’t hear anything. But those men—do you know them?”

  I shook my head indignantly. “No! And it makes me terribly uneasy to have them looking at me like that—especially that big one. I don’t understand what this is about.”

  Another brief flash showed him studying me intently. “You sound so sincere about that too. You’re good, Tamsin. And clever. You can be whatever you need to be—adapt to any situation. I could’ve used that. Truly.”

  I shifted from foot to foot, again acutely aware that I had nowhere to go. “I’m not following, Mister Doyle. Can you explain it more, back inside?”

  He didn’t budge. “Given more time and trust, I think I could have made you understand our plans. I think you would have kept my secrets. But we didn’t reach that point. And you do know those men. Or you recognize them, at least. You know what they were doing—and that’s too big a secret for even you.”

  “I told you, I don’t know them! I don’t understand any of this.”

  “I’m sorry, Tamsin.” Lightning forked, and his face really did look remorseful. “I can’t risk that cleverness being used against me.”

  “Warren, I—”

  He was so fast, I hardly saw him move. One moment, we were standing there, and the next, he was barreling into me. I fell back against the railing, and he was right there with me. He caught hold of my arms and shoved me up over the edge—and then I was falling down, down, down. Thunder trampled part of my scream, and the rest was lost in a mouthful of icy water as I plunged into Denham Bay.