The table was silent, save the sound of utensils scraping food from the plate, and the black garb of the mourners further intensified the somber atmosphere. Emalia pushed her food around with her fork without making any effort to raise it to her mouth, occupying herself by sneaking glances around the rest of the table. The head of the table, where the Avesolore should have been sitting, was empty. Were it not for the black crepe adorning his high-backed chair, no one would have thought anything amiss. His place at the table was set normally, food on his plate and wine in his cup. The signet ring signifying his royalty was placed delicately in the folds of the black napkin beside his plate.

A silent sigh escaped her, and she tore herself away from his abandoned chair. At the far end of the table, most guests were concentrated wholly and silently on their food. Unconsciously, Emalia found herself seeking out her from among the mourners.

Her head was bowed slightly, looking at the table but focused on nothing at all. A wisp of sleek black hair escaped the confines of a silver circlet and tickled the edge of her icy blue eyes. She brushed it away impatiently with a long, pale, painted finger and slowly raised her head. Emalia quickly looked away before Jadazel could catch her watching. Jadazel did not like her. Jadazel had never liked her.

But then, Emalia reflected, why should she? Emalia would probably have been upset too if she came home and found her husband married to someone else.

As was her habit, Emalia’s hand strayed spastically across her swollen stomach. Neither she nor Jadazel had had any choice in the matter. Beldon had set aside Jadazel without her knowledge, and had married Emalia without her full consent.

But the king could do anything.

Emalia frowned as she lost herself in memories. She had never wanted this life. She had never wanted to be a pampered courtier flocking around the king, let alone being married to the king. It was at her cousin’s insistence, encouraged by her mother, that she had left her home in Boltra, left everything she ever knew, to be introduced at the Caliethorian courts by her cousin. She had not been home since, and now she was married to the king.

And yet, Emalia couldn’t help but be somewhat charmed by Beldon Avesolore’s persistence and enthusiasm. In the months immediately following their wedding, Emalia had almost found contentment.

Then Jadazel had returned.

Beldon had declared his separation from Jadazel within a month of her leaving on her third spontaneous luxury vacation. No one knew where she went or what she did, except maybe Beldon, but he kept his knowledge to himself. Mere weeks after their separation, Beldon had married Emalia.

Emalia sometimes wondered if Jadazel’s habit to leave Caliethor had been the deciding factor of Beldon deciding to discharge Jadazel, but for some reason, she doubted it. Outside his role of husband, Beldon Avesolore said little to Emalia regarding such things. What little Emalia knew of things was figured out on her own, but when it came to Jadazel, little was known about her, and less still about her past. Even if she could have gathered information, Beldon had warned Emalia to avoid Jadazel and mind her own business. Emalia had trusted him, and set aside her curiosity.

Jadazel had returned to Caliethor a few days after news of Emalia’s pregnancy was made public. She had burst in the great hall, interrupting the afternoon meal, and began yelling at Beldon. She had launched into a tirade against him, against Caliethor, against men, against the sailors that delayed her homecoming, and against the courtiers that prevented her from striking out at him. He had listened unconcernedly throughout, propped lazily in his chair, watching her all the while with a bemused expression. When at last she had finished, he had sat up and ordered everyone from the great hall, leaving only himself and Jadazel.

Everyone had waited outside anxiously until at last Jadazel burst out, glaring at anyone who dared raise their eyes to her and threatening to strike any who blocked her path. Emalia had thought that she had seen the last of Jadazel, but by the end of the day her belongings were brought in from the ship and taken to a room in a lower tier of Siralla, Caliethor’s royal house. Whatever had passed between Jadazel and Beldon was never revealed, and Emalia dared not ask.

That had been nearly six months ago. Then Beldon had fallen ill. Doctors were sent for and medications prescribed, but to no avail. He had wasted away slowly, deteriorating day by day until nothing was left.

Chairs scraping near the opposite end of the table drew Emalia’s attention back to the present. Nestor, one of Caliethor’s most dedicated courtiers, had risen to his feet.

“In light of recent events,” he said mournfully, bowing his head and raising his glass, “the task of replacing his late majesty must be carried out, unhappy though it is. But first, a toast to honor his memory. To the Avesolore.”

“To the Avesolore.” There was a moment of silence as the collective company drank, and then Nestor spoke again.

“We will now hear candidates.”

Caliethor was ultimately governed by the Avesolore and, in some cases, the Soloriava, but it had been a longstanding tradition that the courtiers would pretend to have some say in the running of the country. While it was true that a strong argument and overwhelming vote from the courtiers could occasionally sway the Avesolore’s decision, overall they were little more than a pretentious and unnecessary institution. It as only in cases such as these that their ceremonial pomp mattered.

“Beldon’s wife is due in a little over a month,” a portly man to Emalia’s left shouted out. “We’ll have his child and our new Avesolore.”

There were murmurs of approval, but Nestor, and as Emalia could see, Jadazel, were not satisfied.

“By all means, put this infant on the throne,” Nestor chuckled, “We’ll start the hunt immediately for a nurse worthy of changing our new king’s wrappings until he is old enough to take care of himself.”

Some laughter met this remark while others considered the facts. Nestor sobered. “Since we all agree that this is a ridiculous waste of our time, let’s appoint a steward to take care of the country until Beldon’s child is old enough and be done with the matter.” His eyes glittered. “The only obvious candidate is Jadazel. She was—”

“I disagree.” A younger man further down the table rose to his feet. Similar mutters of discontent ran along the table at Nestor’s words. Jadazel’s previously unassuming eyes flicked up and scanned the table.

Nestor scowled. “By whose authority are you speaking, Rawlins? Return to your seat.”

“I am speaking with the experience and authority of the country’s manuscripts and a powerful politician for a father, Dae.” Rawlins flashed a challenging smile. “And whether or not you acknowledge me, your argument has no foundation.”

Nestor flinched as his son addressed him informally, but did not return to his seat. His only concession was a slight bow of the head and slump of posture, and Rawlins proceeded to speak.

“Have you all gone made?” Rawlins addressed the assembled couriers as a whole. “There is no debate necessary for this decision. He had an heir, that heir is…gone. Soon, he will have a child. It has already been agreed that this child stands to inherit when he is old enough, but why are we looking for a temporary steward when the child’s own mother sits among us?”

No one had even considered Emalia. She had come from nowhere, brought at her cousin’s behest from Boltra. Soft-spoken and easily intimidated, everyone’s eyes turned to the king’s grieving wife as if noticing her presence for the first time. Emalia felt her heart sink and her face burn, and pretended to be absorbed in the pattern of the tablecloth.

Nestor laughed again, after a moment. The same false laugh that he had used to mock the suggestion of a child monarch, albeit more serious.

“She has no experience,” he said. “Being married to the king does not make one such as her a queen.”

Emalia sunk further out of embarrassment and horrified shock. Having them look to her expectantly was bad enough without them expecting her to be incapable. Rawlins frowned.

“Jadazel’s position as Beldon’s wife, and therefore Soloriava, was forfeit when Beldon married Emalia. Beldon has been preparing her for this. She is queen until her child is born and becomes of age. Be it boy or girl, it is the offspring, and therefore heir, of Beldon Avesolore.”

In the wake of the approving murmurs, Rawlins could not help himself turning to Jadazel with a challenging, triumphant smile. No one but Emalia noticed the look of loathing that Jadazel flashed him. Meanwhile, the rising level of noise meant a decision had been reached, and Nestor rose to his feet again.

“The majority of will has decided. Emalia will be named Soloriava regent come the eve of the new season, Navoptilon the Sweet. That gives her one week.”

The dinner was over. Everyone rose and departed for their respective chambers. Only Emalia remained seated as people shuffled around her, bidding their farewells to each other. Siralla’s servants began clearing away plates of unfinished food.

Emalia raised brimming eyes once more to the head of the great table and Beldon’s vacated position, which she would be expected to fill.

She cursed her cousin for bringing her. She cursed Beldon for marrying her. She cursed her unborn child for binding her to this country. She cursed herself for doing what was expected of her. And then she rose, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, and went to bed.

Newly honored Emalia Soloriava woke abruptly as a hand pressed against her mouth. Her eyes snapped open, but clouds blocked the moonlight she would have used to identify the shape looming over her. She began thrashing, and would have screamed, but the hand tightened its grip.

“You must be quiet,” someone whispered with quiet earnest. Emalia stopped her struggles as the face leaned further and she was able to identify Rawlins. He pressed a finger from his other hand to his lips to emphasize as he slowly released her.

“What’s wrong?” Emalia asked him as he moved away from her bed.

“Jadazel will kill you if you stay,” Rawlins said bluntly. “You must get away from here.”

Her initial shock was driven away by knowing Jadazel’s reputation and fury. She did not need to know Jadazel long to understand why she was given a wide berth.

Emalia swung her hulking frame off the bed with difficulty. Rawlins handed her a small pack.

“Take only what you need,” he told her. “We don’t have much time. A local sailor has agreed to give you passage to Iriliah.”

Emalia ceased trying to shove a shift into the satchel and looked up. “Why Iriliah?”

“There is no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed. There is no open war between us, and there was not always such animosity between the countries as there is now. They cannot refuse a simple traveler. You’ll be safe there, and you will only need to stay there until this thing is sorted out. Even now, people are looking to exile her.”

Emalia stuffed a few more of her belongings in the sack, drew it shut, and turned to Rawlins. He opened the door and she hurried past him. He gave another quick look around the room to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before shutting the door with a gentle click.

The gray of early morning began to illuminate the empty streets by the time they reached the harbor. As they stepped onto the swaying docks, they traded the cold silence of the city for the shrieking of gulls, slap of water against dock and ship, and sailors calling to one another.

There was a woman, though, detached from the maritime activities. She sat alone on a barrel of savii waiting to be loaded, apparently lost deep in thought.

“Are you Lynne?”

At the sound of Rawlins’ voice, she broke out of her thoughts. “Aye.” She stood. “My husband is ready for you.” She trailed off as she caught sight of Emalia holding her swollen stomach.

“You didn’t tell me she was carrying a child.”

“I didn’t—”

“Just get her on board,” Lynne commanded him, apparently torn between worry and frustration. “We’re leaving.”

Lynne led them past the line of docked ships to one alive with activity. The sailors that saw them embarking could only spare Lynne a brief acknowledgement as they hurried about their duties. No sooner had Lynne settled them on board then they began to move.

Emalia felt the ship ease away from the docks and sat down hard on a crate behind her, gripping the edge for support. She was dimly aware of Rawlins and Emalia arguing about something, but nothing was coherent in her mind. Her head felt as though it was splitting in two and she collapsed without warning.

“Oh, venda,” Lynne swore softly, kneeling down beside her. “Help me get her below,” she ordered Rawlins, placing her arms beneath Emalia’s head.

Rawlins was frozen in horrified shock, staring at Emalia’s limp body.

Lynne muttered to herself, cursing him under her breath. “Now!” she shouted.

Torn from his lapse, Rawlins hastened to help Lynne lift Emalia. She led the way to the Captain’s quarters, which, judging from the dust and creaky protest of the bed they set Emalia down on, wasn’t used often. She was still unconscious.

Having delivered her, Rawlins was immobilized again. He stood in the middle of the room, oblivious to both Lynne’s commands and muttered oaths as she was forced to work around him.

“Get out,” she finally told him when he proved to be of no help. The last image he saw was of Lynne trying to comfort a newly aroused Emalia before shutting the door quietly behind him.

Nestor only folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, still staring at the young page, but Jadazel’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “What do you mean, gone?” she asked coldly.

The boy did not see the chips of wood falling away beneath Jadazel’s digging nails, but her icy tone made him shift uncomfortably. “She’s nowhere to be found, lady,” he stammered, “and the signet ring’s gone with her.”

Nestor sat forward suddenly. “She can’t have gone far,” he addressed Jadazel, “we will search the country for her. We will offer a reward for whoever has any news and woe to the sorry—” He stopped at the look on the boy’s face. He twisted the end of his shirt absently in his hands, refusing to look anywhere but the floor.

“She’s not in Caliethor no more,” he told them. “A fisherman—Dreik’s his name—he was on his way out to sea and he saw two people looked just like the two who’s missing at the docks. They’re sailing.”

Jadazel pulled herself slowly out of her chair and to her full height, which towered over the now visibly shaking boy.

“You are dismissed.”

The boy was happy to oblige. He scooted out the door, nearly forgetting to pull it shut behind him and almost slamming himself in it when he did remember. Nestor grinned wickedly, and then looked to Jadazel to see her reaction.

She had not been paying attention. She stood in front of one the tall windows facing the harbor. Her arms were folded across her chest, fingers drumming against her arm. Nestor joined her.

“Nothing can be done until she is returned,” Jadazel said.

“But we don’t know where she’s gone.”

“She will have to be found.”

“But where will we—”

“Do not waste my time with your pointless questions,” she cut across him smoothly. “We know where she is. She is with sailors.”

If Nestor wanted to disagree, he held his tongue.

“They’re all the same,” she hissed, watching them swarm over the docks. “The spawn of the seas, unable to make any other life, unable to control their lust. No telling one of these sorry, slobbering wastes of life from an actual crutay. Blundering pirates, all of them.”

Abruptly she turned away from the window and returned to her chair.

“And they’ll be made such,” she said, settling her long gown over her legs.

“Milady?” Nestor turned away from the window.

“I didn’t misspeak,” she said, not bothering to look at him. “They are pirates. Crutays. And they will be treated as such. Send the guards to the docks. No one is leaving.”

“What do you mean to do?”

She finally met his eyes, but only for a moment. “I mean to find Emalia,” she said. “I mean to institute the Agrus.”

Nestor frowned. “On what charges? This is no emergency.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t the Soloriava regent missing? Wasn’t she stolen by these sailors? These pirates?” She shook out a final wrinkle. “Do as I say, Nestor. Speak with the captain of the guard now, or summon him here so I can do it myself.”

“But—”

“Do I not speak plainly enough for you?” she asked. Her voice was quiet enough, but her eyes and tone betrayed her rising anger at Nestor. “There will be no more independent sailors,” she said. “Sailors who do not explicitly pledge their loyalties to Caliethor will hereby be known by their true name, a crutay.”

“The people will not like it,” Nestor shook his head. “Many of them earn their living by sailing, and if they are not allowed to—”

“Rot the people,” Jadazel muttered. “Trading with foreign countries only weakens Caliethor. We must not be dependent on our foreign allies. Caliethor can fend for itself.”

He swallowed heavily. “And the Agrus?”

“Will be responsible for tracking down the traitors. Sailors without the proper documentation are suspect of treason to Caliethor.”

“There are none of the Agrusi left. They’ve not been needed.”

“Then we will make more. Those captains of the fishing and merchant vessels will need new jobs. They will be trained as Agrusi.” Jadazel eyed him coldly. “Are you out of questions now?”

Nestor nodded dumbly. She leaned forward on the table and pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer.

“Then go fetch the captain of the guard here so that I may speak with him. And for the first of my Agrus, bring me Dreik the fisherman.”

Lynne wiped the sweat from her brow. It had almost been two since they had left Caliethor. Emalia had been in and out of consciousness with a fever that never entirely went away. She was in intense distress whenever she awoke, but now she was sleeping.

Lynne sat back on her heels away from the bed. For all she had been through, the stress and the pain, Lynne was amazed that Emalia had not given birth yet. What Emalia was going through now had nothing to do with the child. And while an early birth could be dangerous, Lynne had a feeling that it would be a great relief if the baby would come. Until Lynne was able to find out what was wrong with Emalia and fix it, however, she was much too weak to give birth, and the effort might easily kill her, her unborn child, or both. Rawlins wavered between wanting to help, being unable to help, and interfering. Tal had finally assigned him an official duty to keep him busy and out of the way, which was the only help her husband had really given her with Emalia.

A roar of greeting on deck was a welcome distraction to Lynne, and she set aside her medicines and hurried upstairs. Tal’s longtime friend Forde had drawn his ship alongside theirs. Lynne stood by Tal to welcome Forde as he came aboard, touching his arm slightly to let him know she was there. He smiled down at her. Lynne knew that she and Tal were happy to see Forde, but when she saw Forde’s face, her smile slipped. His blue eyes scanned the deck uneasily, and he barely acknowledged the rest of the sailors before gesturing to Tal that they speak somewhere privately. Lynne followed uninvited.

“Tal, my friend,” Forde said when they were alone. “I’m glad I found you first.”

Tal’s joy had been gradually slipping from the beginning, and he studied Forde warily. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jadazel…she’s called back the Agrus.”

“What?” Tal asked, taken back. “Against who?”

“Crutays.”

Tal frowned. “Pirates? In Caliethor? Since when?”

Forde shook his head. “According to Jadazel, you are a pirate.”

“Why me?”

“It’s not just you. It’s any sailor that she has not given permission to sail.”

“Why is she doing this?”

“Everyone has been told that Emalia was kidnapped by sailors.”

“We didn’t kidnap her!” Lynne exclaimed angrily. Both men turned to her abruptly, as though they had forgotten she was there. Tal took a step closer to her, but Forde’s eyes narrowed.

“Then it’s true that she’s gone with sailors?” His eyes flicked back up to Tal. “With you?”

“Aye,” Tal said, “but it’s as she said. We didn’t steal her.”

“Stolen or no, Jadazel has ordered that all sailors in Caliethorian waters who are unable to provide proof of their loyalty to Jadazel are to be taken to Caliethor for trial.”

“She’s twisted the Agrus into her own tool. She’s perverted it.” Tal scowled, but it abruptly turned into a grim sort of smile. “At least you made it out, my friend,” he said, putting a hand on Forde’s shoulder. Forde removed Tal’s hand with a grimace of pain.

Forde hesitated a moment and met Tal’s eyes sympathetically even as Tal’s face sobered. He turned around and slipped his shirt over his shoulder. Lynne flinched and Tal inhaled sharply. Tattooed onto the back of his shoulder was the image of a sun, one ray of which extended farther than the others and from which hung a single drop of crimson blood. The mark of the Agrus.

“No.” Forde twisted his head around to watch their expressions. He pulled his shirt back up and turned back to face them. “No, I was in Caliethor preparing to sail when it happened. My options were simple: agree to obey, or spend the rest of my life in prison.”

Tal’s gaze flicked briefly to Lynne as she reached up to grab his arm, and he frowned bitterly. “You sold your life to that witch?”

Forde’s expectant expression suggested that he knew what Tal’s reaction would be. “I had no choice. My wife and son depend on me to stay alive.”

“You sold your life to that witch?” Tal asked again. Forde’s face twitched angrily.

“It was because of you that I was forced to sell my life,” he shouted. “If you hadn’t taken Emalia, none of this would have happened.”

“I took her because I wanted to defy that witch!” Tal kept his tone low and calm, but the underlying implications were as frightening as if he had roared. “I agreed to take her because it was the right thing to do. Jadazel would have murdered her and taken Caliethor for herself!”

“Jadazel has already taken Caliethor for herself, and she has declared that sailors like you are pirates!”

“Sailors like me? Are we so different now?”

Lynne did not dare interfere. She was too shocked that they were fighting to wonder what her own reaction would have been. Except for Thurston, Tal had known Forde longer than any of his other friends. Now they faced each other squarely, panting angrily. Beneath Lynne’s hands, Tal’s arm was tensing up as he clenched his fists. She didn’t dare release him for fear of what he might do to Forde. After a few anxious moments, they both seemed to grab hold of their tempers.

“I came to warn you for your own sake that Agrusi are combing the seas for you, and also to reason with you. If you give me Emalia, I will take her back to Caliethor, and maybe Jadazel will reconsider. I am giving you a fair chance. I only do this for the sake of my family. If I was not still an honorable sailor at heart, I would order my crew to take you before Jadazel.”

Tal shook his head angrily. “If I were more of an honorable sailor at heart,” he spat bitterly. “I would slay you where you stood right now.”

Lynne gave an involuntary cry and looked up at her husband’s face. His jaw was set in a livid frown. Forde inclined his head tensely and turned to go back up the stairs without another word. Tal and Lynne were left alone. She wanted to talk to him, wanted to tell him it was alright, but she didn’t dare with his pride as affected as it was. She let him have his moment of silence, and then he stalked upstairs, Lynne behind him. Forde was already back on his ship and preparing to sail away. He had left rows of confused sailors in his wake. They had heard the shouting.

Tal slipped an arm around Lynne’s shoulder and managed to give her a reassuring glance before turning to Forde.

“Next time we meet, Tal,” Forde called back. “I will not be so forgiving.”

“Nor will I,” Tal whispered so only Lynne could hear him. He watched Forde’s ship sail away until the angle of the sun blocked it from view, and then bent his head forward on his chest.

“You’d best get back to Emalia,” he said at last. Lynne stepped quickly from his embrace and hurried away. How many more have fallen victim to Jadazel? She wondered. How many more friends have we lost?

“You may help yourselves.” Jadazel indicated the food laid out on the small table. Adler and Lloyd lost no time piling food of all sorts onto their plates, but Dreik was watching Jadazel. He did not sit down until after she had already taken her seat at the head of the table, and even then, did not let the food distract him

Why isn’t she angry? Dreik wondered. She’s behaving much too calmly.

Finally tearing his eyes from her, he eyed the food warily. It looked ordinary, but poison was not something you could see.

Jadazel was not eating, he noticed. A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he looked down at the food in front of him again. He glanced at Adler and Lloyd, who, after weeks of nothing but sea fare, were taking full advantage of the real food.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Adler asked him between mouthfuls of lamb. Dreik dared a fleeting look at Jadazel, who was watching him attentively.

“Not hungry.”

He looked back up at Jadazel. She nodded politely as she reached for the pitcher in the center of the table, and poured some into her silver chalice. She raised it to her lips and drank, small smile still plastered on her face.

At least the kel is safe.

Dreik followed her example. The translucent crimson liquid swirled around as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a deep draught, sighing in satisfaction. He had not realized how thirsty he was.

He set the mug back down in front of him, immediately upset with himself for giving in so easily. It tasted normal, in any case.

Preoccupied with worry, Dreik did not see Jadazel raise her glass to her mouth to hide her malicious smile of relief and satisfaction. She pursed her lips tightly against the offensive drink once more.

“Now that you’re all…content and comfortable,” Jadazel set her goblet back on the table and addressed them. “Perhaps it is time to discuss why you have not found Emalia.”

Lloyd looked up at her guiltily, but Dreik looked to the floor. The moment had come.

“Your majesty, I—" Lloyd started to speak, but Jadazel held up her hand to silence him. She rose to her feet and stepped away from the table.

Lightning flashed ominously outside and rain hammered on the window ledge. A rumble of thunder made Dreik shiver as he slowly met Jadazel's eyes.

“One ship is all I ask,” she said lightly. “Can one ship be so hard to find? How can it be that you, the Agrus, are unable to locate a single ship? Why have you not found them? Why have you brought no traitors back for justice?”

No one moved to answer her.

“Caliethor’s Agrus is nearly legendary, you know,” she said, stepping behind them. “Other countries admire and respect our noble navy. You are not living up to legend. Do you deny it? Adler? Lloyd?” Her eyes flickered slightly. “Dreik?”

All three averted their eyes. Addison looked out the window at the churning sea. Lloyd looked down at his food, and then pushed it away with a stab of horror. He looked across at Dreik with fear in his eyes. Dreik did not meet his gaze. He could not.

Jadazel returned to her seat at the table. “I see,” she said quietly.

Just then, the outside guards opened the door, and a man strode in. Water dripped from his clothing and plastered his dark hair to his forehead. He walked with an air of confidence, his vibrantly green eyes contemptuously scanning the men still quaking at the opposite end of the table. The satisfactory thump of his boots on the stone floor reverberated around the dank and storm-darkened gallery.

When Jadazel saw who it was, she rose from her chair, the concern lifting from her face. She offered her hand when he was near enough and he bowed low to kiss it.

“My lady.”

“Warrick. You’ve come.” Jadazel waved her arm to indicate a seat beside her, but Warrick remained standing beside her chair, his hand rested gently on its back. Beneath the turrets of water running from his hair and over his face, he acknowledged the other three with mocking contempt. Jadazel returned to her seat and faced her three commodores with a look of apparent amusement.

“Your services are no longer needed,” she told them. “Warrick is worth more than the three of you. You are dismissed.”

Dreik and Lloyd rose to leave.

“And what of our pay?” Adler asked almost indignantly. Dreik closed his eyes in dread, waiting for the harsh reprimand, but it never came. He slowly opened his eyes to see Jadazel smiling. Adler had fallen to one knee, and his face was contorted in a grimace of pain. Beside him, Lloyd was squirming uncomfortably, and his hand strayed across his stomach in spastic jerks.

Poison!

Dreik put his hand across his mouth before he could stop himself.

“You won’t be needing pay,” Jadazel said to Adler, who was now doubled over in pain. She rose to her feet and turned to leave the room. Warrick followed, wearing the same self-superior smile.

Dreik was in shock. The fact that his two comrades were nearing death did not make an impression in his racing mind. It was about when he was wondering why she had left him alive that a wrenching feeling took hold of his stomach and he fell to the floor in agony.

Venda.

Jadazel faced Warrick over the small desk. Her head was cradled in her hands, gently massaging her temples. Warrick made no move to speak, but watched his queen unconcernedly.

At last she looked up, a glimmer vaguely resembling hope stirring in her arctic blue eyes. “You will not fail?”

“No, my lady.”

Jadazel studied his resolve before giving a deliberate nod. “You will recognize her by two things. One, obviously, she will probably have had her child by now, and it will be with her constantly. Two,” her eyes narrowed, “I have reason to believe she has stolen Caliethor’s ring. Either she will be wearing it, or it will be somewhere nearby.”

Warrick nodded affirmation and bowed to kiss Jadazel’s hand once more before turning and leaving the room. Jadazel watched him leave with a sense of expectancy.

“Go then, my Agrus, and bring me Emalia.”

Warrick pulled his hood over his head as he left the comfort of Siralla for the rare icy rain, his purse considerably heavier. He walked as long as he could beneath the pillared walkway, but finally he shook off the evidence of the last rain and strode out in the direction of his ship. He pulled his cloak tighter around him as the wind threatened to whip it away, recalling his earlier conversation with Jadazel.

“Why do you desire the wench, my lady? Surely she’s no more of a threat now than when she was here?”

Jadazel had grown almost angry at his words, but had not replied. Warrick stomped through a puddle.

“I have never seen her, but Emalia is not the type to raise an army for revenge. She has escaped with her child, and probably has no intention of ever coming back.”

Warrick kicked water at a stray cat huddling beneath some abandoned crates. He smiled as it hissed and streaked away.

“Don’t you see?” Jadazel murmured. “That’s just it. The child. Emalia may never come back, but what’s to stop the child? It must not be allowed to live.”

“But if I may, my lady, what of the other one? Beldon’s ne—”

“I would be very much surprised if he is still alive,” she said coldly. She buried her face in her hands anxiously. “Do not doubt me,” her voice was muffled by her hands, “but bring her back.”

Warrick had departed soon after. Why should he care what purpose Jadazel had for killing Emalia? It was all the same to him. It was his job.

Warrick’s crew welcomed him eagerly when he returned. His first mate, Camden, handed him a dry blanket to dry himself off, which immediately lost its usefulness when it was exposed to the elements. Warrick pulled it over his head anyway.

“Well?” he asked eagerly. “What did she say?”

Warrick strode past him without answering. Almost unconsciously, his crew gathered around him expectantly.

There was no need for him to speak. He simply waved his hand in the familiar dismissive gesture, and everyone knew what it meant and set about their duties. They were to find Emalia. They had received their mission. Everyone knew that their Captain was one of the best around, so their mission could not fail.

Lynne emerged from the cabin carrying what had had to pass as medical equipment, and closed the door gently behind her.

She found Tal at the front of the ship. His eyes were closed, and his arms held casually behind his back, letting the salty sea breeze push against him. She walked as delicately as she could, trying to approach without him noticing, but nothing escaped Tal, especially as concerned his wife. He turned around, prepared to embrace her, but his arms and face fell at the sight of her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“She’s…dead,” Lynne managed. Tal said nothing, but wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Twasn’t your fault,” he said gently, cupping her chin with his other hand. “There was nothing you could do.”

“I know,” she said quietly, laying her head on his chest and looking at the crystal blue water spread before them. A sudden blast of air made her realize just how cold she was, and she was grateful for the warmth Tal’s arm offered.

“What of the child?” he asked suddenly. It had been three agonizing months since Emalia had given birth. Three months of dodging amateur Agrusi and sneaking into the countries around Caliethor had witnessed the slow development of a healthy baby girl, but Emalia had been in declining health since. They had never gone to Iriliah. Tensions between Caliethor and Iriliah were bad enough that Iriliah was not taking any chances. Its navy surrounded the country, refusing passage to any foreign vessels, and raising a defensive flag at any ships waving Caliethor’s colors. They had held off, hoping for a change in policy, but none had come, and Emalia gad given birth as best she could.

She barely had the energy to look at her child, let alone look after it. Lynne had been taking care of both the child and the mother, but her own energy was spent. Emalia had finally seemed on the verge of recovery in the past week, and her death had caught Lynne by surprise. She felt guilty, not because she had failed as a doctor, but because she was almost relieved that, but for the child, she could finally feel exhausted.

“Asleep,” Lynne whispered. Tal nodded.

“We’ll be in Corae next week. We can find someone to take her then.”

Lynne had not forgotten their agreement, but neither had she counted on becoming attached to the child. She looked up at Tal. “You don’t think we could…”

He looked down sharply at her. “You can’t mean what I think you mean.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said, a faint smile playing around her lips.

Tal raised his head back up to the sea. “No.”

“What?” Lynne left off leaning on Tal. “Why not?”

Tal waved an arm to indicate the expanse of ocean before them. “This is why not. You can’t raise a child at sea.”

“Of course you can. We port often enough for regular supplies; it should be no great hassle buying a bit of extra food and linen.” She grinned playfully. “Especially for you.”

“Flattery isn’t going to work,” Tal maintained sternly, but Lynne could not see his blue eyes dancing, however grimly. Once his wife set on something, no amount of persuading could convince her otherwise. Tal glanced sideways at her. Besides, he did love to see her face light up.

“She is Beldon’s heir, Tal, and whatever he might have been, we cannot simply abandon our country’s legacy. What else could we do with her?” Lynne tried.

“Leave it in Corae, like we agreed on,” he replied without emotion.

“Her. Leave her in Corae,” Lynne corrected him.

Tal smiled. “As you wish.”

“No! I didn’t mean—”

He sighed, cutting her off. “Let me see the thing.”

Lynne grinned and scurried off, returning moments later with a tiny bundle nestled securely in her arms. Tal held out his arms, and Lynne, after a small moment of indecision, gently handed the baby to him. The baby opened her wide eyes and looked up at Tal. With a sudden movement, he shifted his hands on the baby and raised her up, so she was facing the ocean. Lynne made a small sound of fear and reached forward, but withdrew when the baby started laughing.

Tal brought her down and cradled her in his arms. “You’re not that bad after all, are you?” he admitted gruffly. And then, suddenly aware that Lynne was still watching them, handed the baby back to her.

“What’s her name?” he asked

“She doesn’t have one yet.”

Tal studied the baby’s face. “Laiora,” he announced at last.

“You can’t just do that,” Lynne said, shifting the newly named baby to a comfortable position.

“And why not? She is the daughter of the king and queen of the ocean, isn’t she?” He wrapped his arm around her once more and kissed her gently on the cheek.

Lynne transferred her gaze from Tal’s blue eyes to the unending blue of the ocean and gave a satisfied sigh.

“Aye. I suppose she is.”

Evening had fallen. Lynne was in the cabin preparing Emalia for the funeral. As she straightened the neck of Emalia’s borrowed blouse shirt, her fingers passed over an object hidden beneath it.

“What’s this?”

It was an ordinary iron chain, but the ornate ring dangling from it was the solid gold and silver emblem of the royal family of Caliethor, encrusted with Gildi, a yellowish gem.

Tal opened the door as Lynne pulled it delicately from her neck. “Is she about ready?” he asked. “The men are waiting.”

“Aye, aye. She’s done,” Lynne muttered absently. “Tal, look at this.”

He drew closer to look at the jewel she held in her hand. “It’s the symbol signet ring,” he told her. “Emalia was, after all, the wife of the king.”

“But what do we do with it?”

“Keep it. We can give it to Laiora when she’s older. But for now,” he took it from her hands and placed it over her head. “It can grace your neck.”

Lynne passed her hand over it and felt its weight before slipping it beneath her shirt. “Help me get her out there.” She moved toward the body and bent to pick it up.

“No. I have my men to do that. You take Laiora.”

Laiora was sleeping in a basket by the door. Lynne scooped her out carefully and followed Tal out.

Two of Tal’s men were waiting outside to retrieve the body. Lynne allowed Tal to lead her past the two lines of somber crewmembers to stand by the edge of the deck. Tal stood across from her.

Rawlins had taken the news hard. He felt responsible for her death, and felt as though he had failed Caliethor. He had not spoken since Lynne had told him the news, and had not been able to attend her funeral. Lynne made a mental note to herself to tell Murray to give Rawlins a sleeping draught with his savii.

Soon, the body of Emalia appeared. The two sailors carried it between the rows on a makeshift stretcher, and the standing sailors bowed their heads as it passed. Reaching the edge of the deck, the men tipped the body into the dark water below. They could not see it descend as it left the light of the torches, but a sudden splash marked its landing. The sailors left their heads bowed a moment more in respect for the dead.

As Lynne’s head bowed, it brought her gaze down on the sleeping infant in her arms.

“I am your mother now,” she whispered.

The baby stirred, but did not wake. Lynne raised her head and saw Tal watching her. He gave her a small smile, which she returned. The sailors began to dissipate.

Lynne rested her head on his shoulder. “Jadazel will not give up. We will have to protect this child,” she whispered.

Tal’s strong voice was unaffected. “I know.”

Warrick swore and slammed his hand down on the table. Frightened, a mouse that had taken a few daring steps into the room turned quickly around and scampered back out.

Months had passed, and still there was no sign of Emalia, her baby, or The White Queen, Tal’s ship. He grunted and slumped into his chair. They were lucky to know that much concerning Emalia’s whereabouts. Lucky that Dreik had been able to identify the woman getting on board a ship as Emalia. Lucky that a sailor who feared for his life had confessed to Jadazel that she was on The White Queen. Warrick rose from his chair and began pacing.

He had heard of Tal; there were few who hadn’t. He was a legend among sailors—he was the best. The desire to emulate Tal had been what sparked Warrick’s interest in sailing in the first place. He was obviously no fool, he would know that Warrick was following him, but how much longer could he avoid the confrontation?

The waters around Caliethor were Tal’s home; his playground. He would not take the chance of testing uncharted waters just to protect a runaway princess he had no business protecting.

Warrick stopped his pacing briefly to search the maps on the table. Or would he?

The rumors surrounding Tal ranged from the ridiculously impossible to the truth and back to the disputed. His love for the sea was obviously no idle tale. Even after being named pirate, he refused to ground himself. But what of his supposed honor, valor, and determination? His dedication and loyalty were evident. His bravery was unmatched by any. His selflessness? People said that Tal would gladly make any sacrifice to help another, and this was the challenge that Warrick faced.

If it was true, then Tal could be anywhere. He might have gone into another hemisphere of the Wholde entirely to shelter the exiled queen. That would have been the easiest route of escape; defend the queen and avoid the charge of treason for sailing unlawfully in Caliethorian waters.

No. Warrick laughed bitterly. His valor would demand him to stay and defend his honor. Tal was not the type to run away from anything.

Warrick ran his fingers through his hair in agitation and began pacing again. If he were to fail Jadazel in this, her dream of vengeance, it would mean his life.

He looked up angrily as the door crashed open. His young cabin boy Callum burst in, out of breath.

“You know you’re not to disturb me,” Warrick growled. “What is it?”

Callum was too scared to speak. He opened his mouth several times, but no sounds came out.

“Out with it!” Warrick yelled.

Callum jumped, but seemed to find his tongue. “Captain…they’ve been sighted.”

A grin of malicious grin of satisfaction spread across Warrick’s face. “Excellent.”

“They’ve come, Thurston.” Tal addressed his first mate, but his eyes were focused on the distance, watching the steady approach of the ship that would soon be upon them. “Prepare the crew.”

“Aye, Captain.” Thurston’s face mirrored Tal, foreboding and dismal, but he set off nonetheless to make sure that the crew of The White Queen was ready for the inevitable onslaught. Almost immediately, Lynne occupied the vacated spot beside her husband, gently rocking the sleeping bundle in her arms.

“How is she?” Tal asked, peering into the face of the baby.

“Well enough,” Lynne replied. “But I don’t know what she’ll do when I have to put her in bed so I can fight.”

“No.” The ferocity in Tal’s voice caused Laiora to start. She shifted as though she was about to wake, but settled back in Lynne’s arms. Tal lowered his voice. “If we are going to protect her, I will fight to defend her, but you must stay with her to make sure nothing happens to her.”

Lynne wanted to protest, but in the face of Tal’s temper, she held her tongue. In time, perhaps, he would relent, but until then, it was best if she did as he told her.

“If the girl must lose one of her parents,” Tal said, smiling gently. “It had better be me. You know more about the raising of children than I. I will fight to my death if I must to defend you and Laiora, but she needs you.”

Lynne looked up into the face of her husband and couldn't help smiling at the expression in his deep eyes.

“I will wait below then, and defend our daughter.”

After giving him a soft kiss on his cheek, she turned and headed down.

“If I never see you again, my love,” Tal murmured quietly, “I want you to take care of Laiora.”

Warrick wiped the sweat from his forehead as another enemy sailor fell before his broad sword. Taking the ship was proving to be more difficult than he had expected. While three enemy sailors had fallen under his sword, many of his men had also perished. Even so, victory was within reach. He had seen Camden hauling the unconscious form of the traitor Rawlins back to the ship; Jadazel would be pleased to have him back.

Right now, however, he was the only one not engaged in battle. Let them fight, he thought bitterly, I’ll find Emalia and her brat.

Making sure no one followed him, he retreated to a corner where he could examine the ship. The only immediately likely place was the captain’s cabin, hidden behind some stacked crates. Then there, he gritted his teeth and shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword, is where I must begin.

Lynne was crooning gently to Laiora. She had woken up at the sound of all the noise above and was whimpering gently, her eyes darting back and forth across the boards over her.

Desperate for a distraction, Lynne pulled the signet ring from beneath her shirt and began to dangle it in front of the baby’s face. Laiora caught it and began to laugh.

Without warning, the door splintered as it was kicked in, and light framed the stooping figure of Warrick. Lynne stopped playing with Laiora and whirled around, the necklace coming to a stop in the middle of her throat. She saw Warrick’s eyes pass over the necklace and widen before rising to her face. She lunged for her sword, which she had kept unsheathed on the bed beside them in case of emergency.

Warrick’s eyes narrowed again as she held her sword in front of her.

Jadazel never said anything about Emalia knowing how to fight. The baby behind her gave an involuntary yawn. But, here she is, Caliethor’s crest around her neck, ready to defend her brat to the death if need be.

She raised her blade higher in challenge.

Warrick grimaced as he advanced further into the room. It need be.

Tal slew the last of the enemy with a final slash of steel. Those of his men that had survived the attack struggled to stay on their feet, looking dolefully around at the bodies of their comrades who had not. Tal did not have long to worry about the casualties as Thurston, trying to hide the same weariness, approached him.

“There’s a survivor, Captain,” he said. “You’d best come quickly.”

Thurston led Tal to a young boy huddled in a corner and sobbing uncontrollably. He knelt down.

“What’s wrong, lad?” he asked gently.

“My captain is…dead. He k-killed her, Emalia, but then she wasn’t d-dead. She r-rose up and st-stabbed him when…when he went for the b-baby.” Tal froze at the boy’s words.

“We w-was just f-f-followin’ orders.”

Lynne.

Tal’s sword clattered to the deck as he rose to his feet. He began to run without a word of explanation to Thurston.

Lynne.

Tal’s heart fell from his throat to his stomach. The barrier of crates was kicked aside and fragments of the door were scattered around the entrance. The angle of the sun prevented him from seeing inside but he could hear faint sounds from the corner of the room where they kept Laiora. Tal took a deep breath and entered.

Lynne.

Lynne was lying on the floor amidst a growing pool of blood. Her eyes were closed, and her breath was shallow. A dark stain was growing on her shirt beneath her open hand, and a thin stream of blood trailed down her wrist and onto the floor. Warrick lay face down beside her, dead. Tal took another cautious step down the stairs.

At the sound of his boots, Lynne’s eyes flickered open and she smiled weakly at him. Abandoning decorum, Tal rushed to her side. She looked up at him, and he flinched to see one of her eyes swelling.

“I protected the baby,” she said quietly. Her voice was cracked and forced. “I protected…Laiora.”

“Hush,” Tal commanded quietly, laying two fingers against her lips. He did not know what else to do. His world was falling apart at the sight of his wife lying so vulnerable in her own rapidly spilling blood. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

Lynne laid an icy hand on his and slowly raised it from her mouth.

“Tal, you must listen to me. I am dy—”
“No.” Tal shook his head frantically. He could not let her say it. “No. We’ll get Murray to fix you. You’ll see. He’ll…he’ll…” Tal trailed off. Murray was dead. Most of his crew was dead. He could not let another one die. Not this one. He swallowed heavily. “You’ll be alright.”

Lynne shook her head gently and gave a soft smile, but her knowing green eyes filled with pools of love and sorrow that gradually spilled out over her cheeks. Tal raised her cold hand to his cheek and rested his head upon it, his eyes closed in despair, trying to picture her anywhere but where she was now, defenseless on the floor.

“Tal.”

Against his will, he opened his eyes and saw her gazing up at him. “Take care of Laiora.”

He blinked rapidly against he knew not what. Tears rose unbidden to his eyes. He nodded against her hand and turned his mouth to it in a kiss.

A cough wracked her body. Tal closed his eyes so as not to see her suffer.

“Tal?”

He opened his eyes once more. “Aye?”

“I love you.”

This time, the tears spilled unchecked from his eyes as he smiled at his wife and watched her close her eyes for the last time.

“I love you too.”

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but he knew she heard. Her face had fallen mechanically into a frown, but the corners of her lips turned up at his words. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but a small sigh escaped her lips and her hand fell slack. He bent over her body and planted a last kiss on her still warm forehead before slowly settling her hand on her stomach. He knelt over her in silence for several minutes, tears blurring his vision and his breathing broken into ragged gasps. The only other sound was of the shuffling of feet outside the cabin as what was left of his crew discarded the bodies of the enemy.

Caliethor will pay. He swore as he rose from the figure of his wife. The child in the corner gave another small whimper. The tears in his eyes turned abruptly to anger as he stared at her. And it would start with that brat.

He picked her up gruffly from the small cradle he had made for her only a few days ago and stalked out the door, ignoring Thurston, who had just arrived. Thurston didn’t even seem to notice Tal. He had just discovered Lynne.

It had all started with this child. He wiped tears from his face. If it hadn’t been for this child, Lynne would still be alive.

He strode over to the railing and raised her above his head, prepared to throw her over into the water lapping against the sides of the still ship. He wished to be rid of her, at one both a replacement for and reminder of his wife.

As he lifted her into the air, Laiora began to laugh. Her tiny voice stopped Tal. He brought her down and peered into her still smiling face.

Hadn’t it been only a week ago when this child had laughed for the same reason? When Lynne had been trying to convince him to keep the baby? Hadn’t it been only a week ago when he had named her, thus bonding her to him?

He raised his head to the sky, desperately trying to remember every detail of one of his last happy days with Lynne. The wind whipped his tears away from his face.

Hadn’t it only been a few minutes since she bid him with her dying breath to keep the child?

He lowered his eyes to the baby again. Thought and reason slowly chipped away at his irrational anger.

She died defending this child. Would he throw away the cause of her death without a second thought? Would he finish Jadazel’s work wish himself?

Tal drew Laiora closer to him.

No. He would protect this child at all costs. Jadazel would not win.

Thurston waited for Tal, but this time, his own eyes were blotched red. Tal was not surprised. Thurston had known Lynne as long as he had. They had both met her six years ago on Corae, looking for a job. They had both been smitten with her, but Tal had inevitably won. Though Thurston had recovered when Lynne had chosen Tal, they had still been together for many years, and Lynne’s spirit could not help but captivate everyone who met her, especially those who had known her for years.

“I’m sorry,” Thurston muttered, raising his eyes to Tal’s, seeking comfort more than he was offering it.

“As am I,” Tal said, conveying his sincere understanding to Thurston. He shifted Laiora to his left arm and set his right hand upon Thurston’s shoulder. Thurston returned the gesture, and the two lifelong friends looked into each other’s eyes a moment longer before daring a weak attempt at a smile.

“Send the youth back to Caliethor.”

“Captain?”

“Just set him back on his ship. If he wants to get back to Caliethor, let him try, but he’ll get no help from me.”

Thurston smiled wider and set off to fulfill his captain’s bidding, pleased to see him nearly back to his normal self.

As am I sorry, Tal thought as he watched Thurston leave. As am I.

The light of torches mingled with moonlight and starlight to illuminate the funeral procession. Tal and Thurston were the only men by the railing. The other sailors carried the bodies of the fallen. Laiora was awake and in Tal’s arms, cooing gently. The grim procession had begun.

“Fear not, sailor,” Tal said, reciting the requiem signifying the ocean calling to the fallen sailor. “For with me, your adventures will never cease—your eternal rest begins in my arms.”

“Come with me,” Thurston’s deep voice joined in as the first of the bodies of the lost sailors was cast into the dark water below. “For mysteries abound in this dark place—secrets longing to be discovered.”

“Come with me, for here time is boundless—lost stories yearn to be told.

“Come with me, for this place has been long abandoned—treasure waits for a brave heart.

“Come with me, for tears dare not dwell in this place—beauty hides for those who seek it.

“Tarry with me,” Tal’s voice broke as the last body, the body of Lynne came into view. “For this place is devoid of dreams—take my hand, and, with our dance, we will illuminate this barren emptiness.”

Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand to push aside a lock of dulled golden hair from Lynne’s forehead.

“Come, sailor,” he recited the last line of the verse without thought. “Relinquish your sorrow; enter my waters—your desire belongs to me.”

The two sailors tipped Lynne’s body over the side. They waited until they heard a faint splash far below. Tal turned to face the water, and the rest of the sailors bowed their heads in silence until Tal turned back around to face them.

“Go to your duties,” he said quietly.

Everyone, including Thurston, departed to begin the evening chores. Tal looked down at the child who was beginning to fall asleep, her tiny hand clutching her birth mother’s necklace.

“Come, sailor,” he whispered to her. “We must relinquish our sorrow and get back to our life.” Without another word he turned and began to walk among his busy crew, the child still nestled securely in his arms.