Frisha looked at Moldovan for the first time. “Grandson?”
“Lecillia’s father,” Rezkin said and then turned to gaze over the crowd gathered around the dock. He searched for blue in a pool of red, but she did not make it easy. The ebb and flow of the crowd was like a wave, and suddenly she appeared in the midst of a group of women as they briefly parted. He met her gaze and then stepped to the top of the gangplank, holding out his hand. The woman sidled forward, her black cloak catching in the breeze to reveal a formfitting red dress. The end of the matching scarf she wore over her face fluttered in the breeze. Her movements were reminiscent of a serpent as she flowed toward him. She took his hand, and her eyes held a smirk behind her veil.
Frisha was used to Rezkin’s attention wandering. He always watched the crowds, but she was not prepared for the odd display that happened next. It was as if he had been looking for someone, and then she appeared. By her dress and sensuous movements, Frisha first thought the woman a Leréshi. Then, she saw the eyes, and her blood turned to ice. She recognized that woman. As Rezkin led her toward the cabin, the woman glanced her way. Her eyes held a glint of laughter, and Frisha wanted to slap her as much as she wanted to run and hide.
The man Rezkin had introduced as his grandfather chuckled, an aged, wheezing sound. “Yes, that one is an Esyojo.”
Frisha swallowed her bile as she watched them enter the cabin. She said, “That woman is not his lover. At least, I don’t think she is. I don’t know anything anymore, but she is just as likely to die in there as she is to live.” When she turned back to Moldovan, he was staring at her, his aged gaze calculating.
“Who are you?” He stepped closer. “You are too familiar with your king. You scold him, yet you fear him.”
Frisha raised her chin. “I am Frisha Souvain-Marcum. I am Rezkin’s friend.” She paused and then added, “We were to be married, but I … I called it off.”
“You? To be queen? Then, you and I shall become well acquainted. I wish to know the woman my grandson chose to wed.”
“As I said, we are no longer betrothed.”
“Why? Why would you sacrifice your position? You would be empress.”
“Empress?” she said weakly.
Moldovan chuckled as his manservant came to lead him to his berth.
After the two men walked away, she was left standing with Farson and Nanessy. She looked to Farson questioningly.
“Moldovan abdicated to Rezkin. He is ruler of multiple kingdoms now. That makes him an emperor. He has named his empire Cimmeria.”
Finding her voice was difficult for Frisha at that moment. It came out soft and shaky. “He said he would give me every kingdom if it was what I desired. I thought it an exaggeration, a romantic gesture. I thought his sweet words too good to be true.” She blinked away her tears. “It was too good to be true. It was never meant to be romantic.” She laughed without mirth. “To him, a gift of an empire is just as practical as a scarf.” She pulled the filmy, green fabric from her neck and balled it in her fist as she fled to her berth.
Nanessy looked to her uncle. “Is she equating a scarf with an empire? I fail to understand why she is upset.”
He said, “Frisha knows that Rezkin would take her back if she asked. She has had to choose between being a queen—or empress—and being loved.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wants Rezkin to love her. He does not.”
Nanessy felt terribly guilty for the sudden thrill that caused her heart to flutter. “I thought—I mean, he seemed to—”
Her uncle gave her a knowing look. “He is incapable of love.”
She flushed. “No one is incapable of love.”
“He is no one,” said Farson.
She frowned at him but said, “Love can grow in time. Minder Finwy says that love can heal the darkest of souls.”
“He has no soul to heal,” said Farson. He growled in anger, “We destroyed it.” He took a calming breath and shook his head. “I admire her for her decision. I believe most women would not have had the strength to reject such an offer.”
Nanessy thought about Rezkin standing there in his regal suit and cloak, with the gold and silver crown atop his raven-black hair. She considered the way he moved, like a predator after his prey as he wielded the power of kings. She saw his icy blue eyes, so full of intelligence and cunning, the knowledge of ages glinting from above a heart-stopping smile. She said, “If she has the man she loves, and he treats her well, perhaps it does not matter that he does not love her in return.”
Her uncle frowned at her sadly and then left her to her fantasies.
The woman entered his berth ahead of him. She had come into his domain alone, and he would not give her the chance to test her skill. Rezkin allowed her to inspect the space, and then she returned to face him in the center of the room.
“We will not be overheard?”
“The room is enchanted. No sound will leave here.”
“Then, no one will hear my screams?”
“If I choose to kill you, you will not have time to scream.”
The secrelé smirked as she reached up to remove the veil. “That was not exactly what I had in mind. No, you are a single-minded man, and yours is not like that of most men.” She ran a finger along the crease between her breasts and said, “Would you, could you, ever let down your guard to lay with me?”
“That would be folly,” he said.
She had a husky laugh. “Yes, it would.”
“What do you want?” said Rezkin. “You have Oledia. I have the sword. Our business is concluded.”
“Is it?” This time she looked at him uncertainly. “The great mother was concerned that you might have been a little perturbed that we did not have the sword for you. She thought you might consider another visit—one less pleasant.”
“There was nothing pleasant about the last one.”
She glanced down and smirked. “For you, perhaps. I, for one, enjoyed the show.”
“If she was so concerned about my seeking retribution, why did she not send you to reacquire the sword for me—or at least let me know you did not have it?”
“We could not have gotten the sword. We tried to discover its location, but Moldovan never told anyone where he hid it. In truth, the great mother did not expect you to be successful in your endeavors. We did not believe you to be the Riel’gesh. That is why I have come and why I have revealed my face.”
She knelt on the floor and then slowly drew eight throwing stars from where they were hidden about her person. Each one, she laid around her, and he knew they represented the points of an octagram, an eight-pointed star. From a pocket in her dress, she withdrew another veil, one Rezkin recognized as belonging to the great mother. The secrelé positioned the filmy fabric around her in a circle and then opened her palms toward him.
“I, Arethia, tasked to speak on behalf of the great mother and the Adana’Ro. We follow the path of Riel’sheng, and we recognize you as the Riel’gesh. Your will is our will. Our swords are your swords. Our bodies are your bodies. We serve you in life and follow you unto death.”
Rezkin looked down at the woman, frustrated yet pleased. Having the Adana’Ro at his disposal would be useful, but he did not feel comfortable with their belief that he was more than human. He said, “I did not ask for this.”
“Yet, it is given,” she said, for once without a hint of humor.