“They will not forgive me,” Rhona said. A certain resignation crept into her voice, more with every word. “They will not understand. None here speaks your tongue. Only me. If I leave them now, I am not again their Gwydas. Never.”
“But they’ll be alive.”
Rhona cried out softly, a pained, throaty sound that was half moan and half sob. The sound of it, quiet though it was, was enough to make Elias’ chest seize tight with familiarity. Clenching his fists, he kneaded the fabric of his trousers until the feeling faded.
“Yes,” Rhona finally said. “I will do this thing. You must go now. I must… I must prepare. Speak with the elders and try to explain. They… a few understand. Perhaps.”
“Thank you,” Elias said. He climbed gingerly to his feet, his knees and back protesting the effort. “You’re making the correct decision.”
It felt like a lie, however much he wanted to believe otherwise. But, right or wrong, Rhona gave him no reply save a small, heartbroken nod.
Swallowing a sigh, Elias went.
Chapter Six
The walk back to the cutter through the village was no less unnerving than it had been the first time. The crowd of elves had not dispersed. If anything, there looked to be more of them, presumably drawn by the spreading word of their arrival. But, although he was conscious of the curious stares and bitter scowls, Elias barely felt them until he reached the beach. He recovered his sword along the way—no one had touched it—but resisted the urge to reaffix it immediately.
“They’re certainly not happy,” he noted, leaning against the vessel’s beached bow and eying the mob of elves that had followed their progress to the village’s edge. Somewhat clumsily, he adjusted the scabbard on his hip.
Kyra glanced back as well then busied herself with a mock inspection of the cutter’s oars.
“Can you blame them?” she muttered. “And if you think they’re angry now, just wait until they realize we’re taking Rhona with us.”
Elias grunted in agreement and gave the cutter an experimental shove. To his relief, it slid a half-foot almost effortlessly, at least compared to the difficulty in hauling it ashore. At Kyra’s look, he shrugged helplessly.
“Just checking,” he explained. “In case we need to leave in a hurry.”
“We won’t,” she said. She did not sound confident, much less certain.
They passed a quarter of an hour in such a fashion, occupying themselves with feigned preparations and uncomfortable, distracted small talk. The only thing of note, aside from Kyra’s laughter when an unanticipated wave succeeded in soaking him to the knees, was a brief, easily settled discussion in which they mutually agreed to surrender the bed to Rhona if better lodgings could not be found for her. Elias didn’t dwell on the subject. Instead, he was cursing the dampness of his socks when a sudden commotion caught his attention.
Rhona marched through the crowd toward them with all the quiet dignity of a soldier making his rounds. She’d donned a heavy cloak, gray rather than the silver of her robe, and cradled a leather satchel against her breast. Even without the possessions and change of attire, her attitude alone made it obvious what she intended to do—a fact that was not lost on the crowd. Indecipherable pleas and outcries followed her all the way to the beach, along with several residents of the village. Several times, the most insistent individuals tried to block her path. And, each time they did, she fixed them with a calm, yet withering stare and shoved past the obstacle.
It was not until she had nearly reached the cutter that the petitioners halted. Their shouted petitions, however, did not. Elias did not have to look hard to spot the anguished guilt that blossomed on Rhona’s face once it was fully hidden from the elves in her wake.
She came straight to him and, unable to help himself, he bowed slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “There’s… we have time if you wanted to speak to them.”
Rhona merely shook her head and said nothing. And so, uncomfortably aware of how close her barely clothed chest was to him, Elias offered her a hand and helped her into the cutter. Without a word or glance, she made her way to the stern and took a seat near the firmly knotted rudder.
Elias waited until Kyra had boarded as well then gave the bow another forceful shove. He could feel the eyes and fury of the watching elves squarely on his back, and for once, he was grateful for the ache caused by the morning’s exertions. It felt appropriate that he should hurt. In fact, it hardly even bothered him when he succeeded in shoving the boat from shore and soaked his boots anew wading out into the surf to climb aboard.
The journey back to the Dark Dawn was, if anything, even more uncomfortable than the waiting had been. Elias occupied himself with rowing, but even the pain and weariness it caused couldn’t fully distract him from the unnatural quiet. Several times, Kyra tried to start conversations with their guest. Each time, Rhona answered in the fewest words possible, or none at all when a nod or shake of her head would suffice. As a result, it wasn’t long before Kyra grumbled that Elias was the worst seaman she’d ever known and joined him on the oars.
Avans’ crew was already rigging the sails and preparing to weigh anchor by the time they reached the side. It took Elias several minutes and many unhelpful instructions shouted down at him before he succeeded in guiding the cutter near enough to board. Finally, when the job was done, he stowed his oars and turned to Rhona. To his surprise, the elf was already on her feet. In seconds, with a dexterity that put him and Kyra to equal shame, she ascended the side with her leather satchel tucked neatly under her chin.
He watched her climb for a few seconds then hastily averted his eyes when a sudden gust reminded him that the elf was wearing a robe rather than trousers. Standing as well, Kyra snorted quietly. Elias maintained a fleeting hope that her reaction was aimed at something other than him, but promptly abandoned the thought when she grabbed ahold of the ladder and turned.
“Sorry, Eli,” she teased, patting her trousered hip. “Nothing to see here.”
The only consolation to be found was that all his rowing had reddened his face sufficiently to mask his blush.
Elias waited until one of Avans’ men descended to secure the cutter, then swiftly climbed his way onto the deck. As expected, Rhona’s arrival had stirred quite a commotion among the crew and with Kyra’s help, he guided the somewhat flustered elf through past the gawking sailors and up the stairs to the quarterdeck.
“Quit your staring, you slack-jawed bastards. Back to stations,” Avans growled. Though he had clearly spotted them, he did not turn to greet them until the last of the crew had reluctantly shuffled away. Then and only then did he turn, pull the cap from his head, and bow. “Sorry about that. Welcome aboard, miss.”
Elias stepped forward. “David, I think it might be best if—”
He needn’t have bothered. Rhona smiled placidly, her earlier melancholy seemingly forgotten, and returned Avans’ bow with a hand pressed delicately to her breast. Though her robe was not strictly flowing enough for a proper curtsey, she effected one anyway. And when she straightened, her eyes shone warmly and brightly enough that Elias noticed for the first time that they were the same creamy gold as a morning sunrise.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I am… honored? This is the right word?”
“I certainly hope it is,” Avans said with a genteel laugh. Turning slightly, he cocked a brow. “I take it Elias told you why we’re here?”
“He did, yes,” Rhona said. “I will guide you to my people’s primarch. You have, ah, the papers with maps?”
“Charts?” Avans asked. He nodded to Elias. “Aye—they’re in my cabin. Give the lady whatever she needs.”
Elias returned the nod and added a smile of his own. “I’ll do that,” he said. “Oh, and as far as lodgings go, Kyra and I agreed that Rhona could take the bed in our cabin. Do you think your men will be able to find another pallet? I don’t know if my back could survive the floor.”
For the briefest instant, a hint of mischief shined behind Avans’ eyes. If he hadn’t known the man for so long, Elias might have missed it. But, before he could comment on it, the captain gave a dismissive wave.
“I’ll find you something,” he promised.
Elias let the matter drop. If he’d been wiser or more cunning, however, he might have known better.
***
Elias had expected the matter of the charts to be a relatively swift, efficient affair. As it turned out, he was quite mistaken. What he’d failed to account for was a fact evidently well-known to both Rhona and Kyra: that the various elven cities and factions parsed out their seas as well as their land. The precise route to be sailed, therefore, was as much a political decision as it was a pragmatic one.
He’d done his best to follow the conversation, though the frequent lapses into the elven tongue made it difficult at times. But, as the discussion stretched into its second hour, he found his attention waning and he began to roam Avans’ cabin in search of a distraction.
Unfortunately, like his own rather cramped accommodations, Avans’ far larger cabin held only a few items of interest. There were a few logbooks from past expeditions, but unlike the adventuresome tales he’d read or listened to as a child, they were mostly filled with the monotonous details of daily sailing. Records of winds, ships sighted, and cargo manifests were better than nothing, but they hardly made for riveting reading.
Rather more compelling was the small chest of tokens Avans had gathered over his years as captain. Elias was briefly worried that his snooping would offend the man then decided that, if anything, David would probably appreciate the chance to reminisce over the relevant stories. At least, he hoped so, since he doubted Avans was the sort to keep such knickknacks without obvious cause. The rusted knife and a chipped, long-neglected statuette of the three-legged god he could nominally understand. The stained, seemingly decades-old bandages and empty bottle of expensive liquor he could not.
He was just about to uncork the latter in hopes of sniffing out what the former contents had been when Kyra called out to him.
“Eli,” she called, in an exasperated tone that suggested she’d been subtly trying to summon him for quite some time. “Care to join us? Or, do you—”
“What is it?” he asked. Returning the bottle, he slid the trunk back into its proper corner and quickly moved to rejoin them. “Do we have a heading?”
“You haven’t been listening at all, have you?” Kyra sighed. Shifting, she indicated one of the charts. “We’re planning to sail southeast for at least another two days. Then we’ll sweep east and approach the bay from the south. It’ll take some time, but Rhona thinks it’ll be safer than trying to follow the coast.”
“Why?” he asked. It was hard not to let his impatience show.
Evidently, Rhona detected it anyway. Seated in Avans’ chair, she fidgeted a bit and hesitated before replying.
“There are cities on the coast between Eh’kaavi and Dan Tien, the capital. Many are led by poretas from the wars.”
“Captains, basically,” Kyra supplied, grimacing. “According to Rhona, they’re quite autonomous and wield a great deal of influence. It’s possible that one or more of them are responsible for the recent raids.”
Elias nodded slowly, studying the charts strewn across the desk. Though he wasn’t much of a sailor, he didn’t have to be to follow the logic behind the decision. And, however much a part of him wanted to rush, the entire point of recruiting Rhona had been for her to advise them. If he dismissed her recommendations on a whim, the days they’d spent in reaching Eh’kaavi had been wasted.
“Well, Rhona is the expert,” he said at last. “I’ll let Avans know what we’ve decided.”
He did not expect Rhona’s smile. The elf beamed at him, albeit briefly, the first real sign of happiness he’d seen from her. Then, eyes twinkling with gratitude, she turned to Kyra and said something he couldn’t understand.
Kyra barked a laugh, shaking her head in vehement denial.
Elias glanced between the two curiously. “What?” he asked. “What did she say?”
“N-nothing,” Kyra said quickly. “Just an elf joke. It’d take too long to explain.”
It was an obvious lie, but her grin was innocent enough that Elias couldn’t muster the energy to press her. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that goading him into demanding answers was exactly what the women had in mind. Shaking his head in mildest annoyance, he left the pair behind.
Their intimate laughter followed him onto deck, audible long after the door was closed behind him.
***
It was the pain in his side that woke Elias just before dawn, three days later. He tried shifting, hunting unsuccessfully for a more comfortable position. Instead, the ache in his ribs worsened. And so, muttering a curse, he cracked open his bleary eyes and found Kyra sprawled onto his pallet, her elbow wedged hard against him.
It was hard to blame her; the cabin floor was so narrow that even after they’d rearranged his trunk, his pallet lay wedged between hers and the wall. Wary of giving offense, he’d initially insisted that he would be fine. He preferred sleeping on his side, anyway. But the stark realities of straw and linen meant that, inevitably, he rolled unconsciously in the night. The first morning had been the worst; thankfully, he’d woken up before Kyra could discover that he’d snuggled up against her.
Unfortunately, there was nowhere left to go. Kyra lay in such a way that to move her was to wake her. So, rather than risk it, he carefully rose, crept to the door, and fled onto the deck.
Much to his surprise, the Dark Dawn was already abuzz with activity. Men scaled the rigging as though their lives depended on it while Raltson prowled amidships, snapping orders at any man who tarried. Frowning, Elias looked about and soon spotted Avans on the quarterdeck. The man stood at the portside bulwark, staring out to sea. For once, he did not seem to notice Elias.
Even when Elias ascended the quarterdeck stairs, it was not until he was practically at Avans’ side that the man glanced over.
“Elias, good,” Avans said. “I was just about to send someone to wake you. There may be trouble.”
Instantly, Elias was wide awake. Stepping closer, he peered out in the direction Avans had been looking.
“Elves?” he asked.
“Aye, most likely.” Leaning forward, Avans indicated a blurry smudge on the horizon. “It’s a ship of some kind. Only spotted her a few minutes ago. Probably three-masted, judging by the way she’s been gaining on us.”
“A warship?”
Avans shrugged. “Could be. Could also be traders. There’s no way to be sure until she gets closer and I can peek under her skirt.”
“How long will that take?” Elias asked.
Avans shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “Hours? Days? Probably hours; I don’t know shit about elven ships other than they’re supposedly fast as the hells. You should ask that new girl of yours. We might need her on deck soon, anyway.”
Elias nodded and headed for the stairs. He’d gone only a single step when Avans caught him by the arm. Turning back, he found the man grimacing.
“Grab your sword while you’re at it,” Avans said.
Chapter Seven
Elias was still adjusting his scabbard when Kyra and Rhona joined him on deck. The pair had dressed quickly, the latter scarcely bothering to fasten her outer cloak around her neck before ascending the quarterdeck stairs three at a time. She did not even acknowledge Elias where he stood less than an arm’s length away. Instead, she leaned forward and squinted at the ship on the horizon.
“They sail here?” she asked, her voice tense and controlled. “Toward us?”
“That’s right,” he confirmed.
Rhona muttered something in her native tongue, a curse by its inflection and a serious one by the way Kyra’s eyes widened in alarm.
“You have, ah, glass?” she asked, li
fting her fists to an eye.
“No, I don’t.” Elias shook his head and glanced at Avans. “The captain—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. Rhona hurried away, clutching the edges of her cloak as she pushed past several men in her haste to reach Avans.
“Seven hells,” he muttered to Kyra. “Is it that bad?”
Kyra merely shrugged.
When Rhona returned a moment later, empty-handed, her grim expression had turned outright severe. Pacing from Kyra’s side to Elias’, she growled something incomprehensible.
“I take it he didn’t have one?” he asked.
“No,” Rhona muttered, eyes flashing. “Fool-man. Poor captain. What ship has no glass? My people take dozens.”
Elias grimaced but didn’t argue. Or, rather, he couldn’t. It was more than a little surprising that Avans didn’t have a spare glass lying around somewhere. Although he knew from his experience in Islesmark’s markets that the spotting scopes were quite pricey, to depart without one felt as risky as traveling without the means to repair a torn sail.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait for her to get closer,” he said.
Rhona halted abruptly, her scowl deepening. She glanced around and clicked her thoughtfully. Then, adjusting her cloak yet again, she stepped between him and Kyra and grasped the wooden bulwark at its thinnest point.
“Kaba’wei,” she said. Eyeing Elias, she tossed her head as if inviting him closer. “Stand there—behind. Do not let the others see. Captain, sailor, none.”
Elias frowned in confusion but did as instructed. He glanced at Kyra, but she looked to be just as confused as he was.
Once the both of them had been repositioned to Rhona’s satisfaction, with as much of her body shielded from view as possible, the elf leaned forward. She continued to grasp the bulwark, her fingertips digging into the wood like claws.
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 5
