by R. K. Hart
But she found nothing; she was not the storm. Just her normal small self, a barely-woman who came truly alive only in the realm of dreams and death, and she could not touch the sky.
She leaned back against the mainmast and wept, her face in her hands.
There was a soft thump on the deck as Lorcan dropped from the mast above. He pulled her close and stroked her hair as she sobbed into his soaking shirt. He was tense at first, angling his body as far away as he could, but the longer she wept and the further the storm swept from the Belle the more he relaxed, and eventually he sank down onto the deck and cradled her in his lap.
‘How can you stand that?’ she cried.
‘I am so sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I have known it so long that I forgot what it was to feel it for the first time. I should not have done that. I am so sorry.’
She raised her hands and stared at them, remembering the feeling of lightning over her skin. Her fingers tingled and she watched them tremor, as if they weren’t quite hers.
‘That is why the Lightning Mage was so powerful,’ Lorcan said, watching her inspect her palms. His irises had changed from their usual dark brown to entirely black and Lida supposed she should have been afraid. ‘That is how he fought the armies of the Eilin King. He linked his mind to the storm and he commanded it. It is why he was so dangerous.’
‘And you can do the same thing.’
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Linking with the storm is one thing. Commanding it …’ he trailed off. ‘Tiernan can, sometimes. He can call a storm at will. But making it do your bidding … It is made up of a thousand different parts, and each one has a mind of its own.’ He smiled and tugged at one of Lida’s wet curls. ‘It would be like trying to make a thousand of you do the same thing, all at once. Near impossible. It is difficult enough to convince one.’
She sniffed. The rain had almost stopped and she wiped her face, looking up at the thinning cloud. The lightning on the horizon was gone.
‘Why were you on the mast?’ she said. ‘How could you keep still?’
‘Usually, Isla would weigh anchor and I would swim. But it is almost spring, and the spear-sharks are thick in these waters. My choice was to be still, or to be food.’
‘But why up there?’
He looked away. ‘It is closest to the sky, and furthest from people. I would have climbed higher, but Eve banned me from the topmasts. It is called storm-mad, what happens. You cannot think like a person, when your mind is in the sky. Everything is … well, you felt it. Everything is the air and the clouds and the lightning. Everything is the currents and the movement and the power. Everything is bigger. Everything is more.’ He sighed. ‘Stom-ruith become volatile, dangerous, even, when the storm is close. Some lose connection to their self completely. They do not know what they do, while their mind is not their own. Some become the storm, and never come back.’
‘They get lost,’ Lida said, thinking of what Jessa had said.
‘They get lost,’ he agreed. ‘In the past, some stom-ruith did it deliberately. To die that way … I suppose that way might be better than others.’ He tilted his chin back, and his voice was soft when he spoke again. ‘They do not call it lost. They call it becoming.’
Lida shivered. ‘What if you didn’t send your mind up?’
‘Not linking is worse than storm-madness. To know that the sky is there, waiting … it is the greatest torture I have ever known.’ He paused. ‘Well. One of them.’
‘Why didn’t you want me up there?’
He chuckled and pressed her closer. ‘Lida, I cannot withstand both you and the sky.’
She was suddenly aware of his hands moving up and down her back, comforting and something more all at once. A flush stole up her neck and across her cheeks; her eyes were heavy as they lifted to study his lips, very near her own. Her fingers, still trembling from the memory of the lightning, were burning to touch him, so she lifted them to trace the hollow of his cheek and watched his lips part as he drew in a sharp breath. His gaze dropped to hers and held, and the air between them went sharp; for a moment, she felt a thrill of triumph, as if she’d won some battle she only just realised she’d been fighting all along.
It was not to be, however; he did not kiss her. Instead, he stood and pulled her up with him, stepping back slightly so that there was space between them and Lida was cold once more, shivering and thrumming with disappointment.
‘Lida,’ he said carefully. ‘You know, do you not, that -’
‘Oh, by Eianna,’ she hissed, and she stepped forward and kissed him herself, for she could not bear to wait any longer.
It was clumsily done; he was too tall for it to be easy, and she was too flustered by the memory of the storm and by the loss of his nearness to concentrate on anything much at all, so her lips pressed against the side of his mouth. For a moment, he stood very still; it was long enough for Lida to pull back, long enough for her to begin worrying that she’d somehow been mistaken, that somehow she’s misread everything; it was long enough for her stomach to begin to churn and for her hands to bunch into angry fists at her awkwardness.
In the next moment, her back was against the mainmast, moved so swiftly she wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, and she stopped thinking about anything at all as his lips found hers with rather more accuracy and skill than she had managed.
He pulled back some time later. He’d folded down to the deck again and Lida had locked her arms around his neck. She rested her forehead on his as she struggled to steady her breathing, taking in the honey and spice scent of him and trying - not very successfully - to ignore the rest of her body. She thought its reaction was rather over the top, given it was only a kiss, even if it was a kiss she had wanted for quite some time.
‘You might have done that sooner, Lida,’ he said mock-severely, his voice somewhat huskier than usual.
‘Me?’ she spluttered.
‘Mmm. You had so many chances. You might have done it in Brinnica, or at the Yoss, or in the woods, or in Kingstown. Or at the Illarum, even. Any time at all, really. You could have done it the night you arrived, though I may have insisted you bathed first.’ He considered her face. ‘Probably not, though.’
‘You might have done it any time at all!’
‘That is not the way it works.’
She frowned at him. His hair had grown since they’d left the Illarum, and he looked very wild, his damp curls mussed by the storm and by her hands, his eyes glittering under long black lashes. Jakob’s voice echoed in her memory: Women do everything first in Erbide.
He gave a lazy half-smile and nodded, catching the thought.
‘You might have told me. That is not how we do things in Eilan. You might have been waiting forever.’
‘You should listen more carefully. And I was about to tell you, before you interrupted me.’ He grinned. ‘You should interrupt more often.’
‘You may never get to speak again.’
‘I would not complain.’
‘You wouldn’t be able to.’
He brushed his lips over hers, his eyes hooded; her heart thudded against her ribs. He lay his palm unerringly over it.
‘Your heart is racing.’
‘It is flying,’ she whispered. ‘It has not come back from the sky.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Eilins do get the words right. Sometimes.’
She bit his lip, but it had a different effect than the one she’d intended, and neither of them spoke again for quite some time.
‘What now?’ she said, when his mouth moved to her jaw.
‘More of this, until I die.’
‘On the deck of the Belle? We’ll get cold.’
‘Then take us elsewhere, selkie. Surely you have thought this through.’
She poked him in the ribs. ‘I thought it was a dryad.’
‘Whoever said that,’ he murmured against her neck, ‘has not been paying proper attention. Dryads are gentle and helpful and tame. Selkies are wild and fierce and fera
l.’
‘Feral?’ She pushed him away from her collarbone, raising an eyebrow.
‘Entirely.’
‘That isn’t a compliment, Lorcan.’
‘It would depend on who said it, non? And if you do not think it true, you have clearly not seen your face when you spar.’
She blinked. ‘You saw me train?’
‘Only twice. I could not watch more. I wanted to fill the Kalisson with arrows.’ He sighed happily. ‘The first time I watched, you tried to punch his face.’ His voice was approving. ‘You did not, but it was very satisfying, seeing someone try.’
Lida straightened and rubbed her ribs in remembered pain. ‘I wasn’t fast enough.’
‘You almost were. And you got back up, when he threw you down, which is the hardest part of all. You fight as if you are dancing.’ He settled back against the mainmast, his lips curved as he appraised her through hooded eyes. ‘I would like to see you dance.’
Lida flushed. He’d said it in Eilin, not Brinnican, but his smile widened as he watched her face heat.
‘Unfortunately for me,’ he continued, ‘Eve is on her way, and she warned me that I was not to so much as look at you while the storm was near. She has always wanted to keel-haul somebody, and I will not give her a reason to make it me.’
He pulled her to her feet and she swayed slightly, her legs not quite stable. His hands found her hips and steadied her.
‘Was the storm too much for you, ais-la?’ he murmured, gently mocking.
She rose up on her toes and kissed him softly on the side of his mouth; his fingers tightened involuntarily on her waist and she gave a savage smile.
‘I’ll be ready for it next time,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Port Royal
The sunrise brought a clear day with a cloudless sky; it also brought the sight of land.
Lida leaned over the ship’s rail excitedly, the breeze whipping her hair from its neat bun. The sharp grey cliffs rose steeply from the water and the earth was carpeted in a rich green that tugged at her heart after too many months of snow and ice. Rocky outcrops spearing from the sea just off the main coastline stood like sentries around the entrance of Port Royal. From a distance she could see the huge wooden structures that were kindled for bonfires at night, placed strategically along the cliffs and on the outcrops, a warning and a guide for ships coming to port after the sun had set.
The Belle skirted one such rocky sentry, so close that Lida could see the large white seabirds nesting in determined patches of grass, growing precariously from cracks in the grey stone. Jessa was next to her, hanging dangerously over the rail, mirroring Lida’s excitement as Port Royal came into view.
It was the second largest port in Eilan, after Delta Port, which sat on the eastern coast and at the mouth of the northern branch of the Lifeblood River. While Delta Port was dock of choice for ships from Erbide and the continent, Port Royal serviced the south-west and Kingstown; small ships could sail right through the port town and all the way up the Little Lifeblood to stop at the waterside warehouses just a few miles from the capital. Port Royal was the elder of the ports, and its age lent it a rambling quaintness that caught Lida’s imagination, so different to the sandstone order of Kingstown she’d grown up in.
The town of Port Royal was built right up to the edge of the water. Buildings of grey stone and wood towered to four - and even five - precarious, mismatched storeys, many with eye-like bay windows that jutted out to hang precariously over the ocean. Small cobbled pathways carved between houses; Lida could not think of them as roads, as they were nothing like the ones she knew. Arched bridges hung above, connecting the upper stories of homes and shops in a haphazard airborne network. The mouth of the Little Lifeblood broke the water’s edge; its steep banks were fringed with thick grass and flowers, just as it was further inland.
The Belle was too large to sail close to the waterfront. Eve spun the helm to bring them next to the jetty in the deepest water of the port, furthest from the town. They drifted in slowly, driven by Eve’s masterful manoeuvring, to settle neatly parallel to the jetty. A light tremor wracked the ship as the anchor was lowered and found its place on the seabed below.
There was a storm of activity as multiple gangways ascended. The crew seemed to know exactly what they should be doing, and it looked to Lida like a graceful, hurrying dance performed by those who knew the steps by heart. She would have happily watched them for hours, but Lorcan appeared at her side, raising an eyebrow at Jessa.
‘I am supervising,’ Jessa said, with unconcerned dignity. ‘You cannot give me orders here, Dar-Oidre.’
‘I would not dare order you anywhere, Jessa Shepherd,’ Lorcan answered. He held his hand out to Lida. ‘We are off first so we do not get in the way.’
Lida snorted. ‘You mean so I do not get in the way.’
‘You are welcome to confirm that with Isla, if you wish.’
‘I do not wish,’ Lida muttered, and took his hand. He had saddled and packed both horses while she had been idling at the rail; Sacred pricked her ears, excited by the noise and activity and, presumably, the scent of thick green grass after the rain and the prospect of burying her face in it. Lida stroked her nose and led the mare from her stall.
Sacred was much less confident going down than she had been going up, and Lida felt a thrill of real fear as the mare lost her footing on the gangway with Lida before her. Lida jumped to the side, squeezing herself between the horse and the flimsy guardrail, hoping desperately that it would hold. Sacred scrambled and managed to stop herself on a rivet in the wood. Lida gave her free rein after that, letting her go at her own pace, following slowly behind her.
Sacred whinnied when her hooves touched the jetty, her head turning towards the town. Lida petted her and shouldered her pack, waiting as Lorcan and Midnight made the descent from the ship. They managed it more competently than Sacred and Lida, having had much more practice.
Sacred pulled towards the grass and Lida let her go, curling her toes as she felt it spring beneath her boots, half tempted to go barefoot. She watched as a tiny sailboat coasted swiftly past the Belle, making its way right up to the water’s edge and through the raised gates over the Little Lifeblood’s mouth. She looked wistfully at the town as sailors started to carry crates of goods from the Belle. ‘Do we have to leave for the Illarum right away?’
Lorcan had produced two carrots for the horses, seemingly from nowhere. He kept his eyes on Midnight. ‘We cannot go tonight. Isla has asked that we eat with her and Eve. My mother owns a house here, so we have somewhere to sleep. We could stay an extra night, if you wish.’
Lida coughed, trying very hard not to think about being alone in a house with him for two whole nights and days.
He took her free hand and put it to his lips. ‘Or two extra nights,’ he said. ‘I can reach Jakob from here. No one will worry.’
‘Three nights,’ Lida agreed, wondering how difficult it would be to turn three nights into four as she threaded her fingers through his. They stood in silence, watching the bustle on the ship as the horses grazed behind them.
Lida turned her eyes back out to sea. There were two large ships coming in, both bigger than the Belle. One looked so similar it might have been a sister ship, crafted from the same rich chestnut wood, with the same three masts and sea-green sails.
‘Lor,’ she said, frowning at the second. ‘What kind of ship is that?’
Its bow was sharp, and it cut through the gentle water of the port, driven by the rhythmic splash of the row of oars along its hull. It was made entirely from black wood; two red painted eyes stared from either side of the bow, and two more unfurled from the one great white sail. There were odd gaps cut into the ship’s rail, and as Lida watched, there was bustle of calm movement on the deck. Sailors stepped to stand almost shoulder-to-shoulder in an unbroken line, all shirtless, each with something in their hand.
‘Lor?’
‘I do not know,’ he answered; Lida could hear
the frown in his voice. ‘I do not know why-’
Lida realised what was in their hands at the same instant Lorcan began to draw, more powerfully than he had during the storm, more powerfully than she had ever felt before, and she knew that something was terribly wrong. He pushed in front of her, roughly shoving her back.
‘Get down, Isla!’ he roared, the command carried and delivered by illae.
An odd blow came through the air, and Lida watched numbly as the Belle shuddered. Half a moment later she heard a booming sound and an immense crack; her ears felt as if they’d been stuffed with wool, and they began to pulse with a dull, high-pitched ring. She turned to the horses in time to see the pair of them flee across the grass and into an open field. Smoke began to billow into the sky, its source the side of the Belle that Lida could not see.
Isla sprinted down the gangway, her crew spilling out after her. They poured onto the jetty, spreading out behind their ship; Isla held a shortsword in her hand. With a flash of panic, Lida realised that she could not see Eve, though her eyes picked out Jessa’s dark topknot amidst the Myrae braids.
The ship with the staring eyes was past the Belle, sailing closer to the port, and the sailors lifted and positioned what they held: longbows. They drew back their arms and released as one, a volley of arrows arching gracefully through the sky. Lida watched, mesmerised, as they sped towards the ground.
‘Shield, Lida!’ Lorcan shouted, startling her back to awareness. She did as he directed, furiously drawing and channelling power to her mindshield, just in time to see a sailor hit the jetty, an arrow piercing where her neck joined her shoulder. Red blossomed down her white shirt and Lida watched her hands scrabble on the jetty, feeling oddly empty. Even from a distance, she felt the sailor draw.
