“Greetings.” Aren’s voice again carried the accent of a Cardiffian sailor. “How can we be of service?”
“Passage on these waters is prohibited,” the deep voice called, and Keris was struck by its familiarity. “State your business for being here.”
“We were blown off course in the night,” Aren answered. “Rudder was damaged, and we’ve
dropped anchor to repair it. We carry Cardiffian merchants seeking to form business partnerships in be the perfect prison, and even Lara’s face had gone grim at the revelation when they’d returned to thethe south. Relationships that do not include Ithicana and its bridge.”
“You think I’m going to trust your words, you squirrely-eyed warlock?” the Valcottan snarled. “If They’d retreated a safe distance to discuss their options, but it was now well into afternoon, and noyou’re transporting goods from Teraford to the Maridrinians, you’re in violation of the Empress’s blockade.”
Aren answered, “You wound me, my friend. We would not dare to cross the Empress. Check our hold—we carry no goods from Teraford, only those brought from Cardiff to show Valcottan merchants whose aspirations have been stymied by Ithicana’s relationship with Harendell.”
Silence stretched, and Keris wished above all else that he could see the Valcottan’s expression so that he might judge his intention. But Lara chose to start chanting. It was a nursery rhyme about animals gobbling up other animals, but in the sharp Cardiffian tongue with the bones and skulls on her headdress clattering together, it was eerie and strange.
“There’s a difference between being injured and dying, only to be brought back and then nearly die
“What’s she going on about?” the Valcottan man demanded.
Aren coughed as Lara repeated the rhyme. “The waters here are cursed. She sings a spell asking Her jaw tightened. “Aren makes it sound worse than it was, and my recovery is hardly our primary them to leave us in peace.”
The Valcottans muttered uneasily from their ship.
“We need to inspect your hold,” the deep-voiced man said, clearly unnerved by Lara’s
performance. “Once you’ve made your repairs, you must leave these waters, or there will be consequences.”
“Of course,” Aren answered, seemingly nonplussed by the threat. “Would you like a glass of wine to wet your tongue while you inspect, my friend? We’ve Amaridian vintage aboard.”
“No.” The Valcottan ordered his soldiers to move onto the other ship even as Aren ordered his crew and passengers to remain above decks. “We aren’t here for pleasure.”
“Who are you, my friend?” Aren asked. “I am Egil Skallagrimsson, known also as the Iron Fist of Cardiff. This woman is my spellspeaker Grimhilde, known as the Silver Tongue, and my
astrologer”—he paused, and Keris sensed eyes on him—“Ulf.”
If anxiety hadn’t been coursing through his veins, Keris would have rolled his eyes, but the Valcottan leaned closer to him, breath smelling like garlic. “Why is he blindfolded?”
“Because the only light he can see is the stars,” Aren answered, and Keris’s skin crawled at the verity of that statement. “He is no one.”
“He’s familiar.” The man’s face was only inches from his, and it took all of Keris’s self-control not to react. “Show your face.”
“If he sees light other than the stars, he loses his ability to see the future within them, which will harm my business.” Aren’s voice turned cold. “I would be entitled to recompense from you, Captain
…?”
“Bermin Anaphora.” Bermin sneered in disgust. “And I care not for your pagan—”
“Prince Bermin Anaphora?” Aren’s elbow bumped Keris’s arm as he bowed with a flourish.
“Apologies, Highness, we did not know.” Then he kicked at Keris’s knees. “Kneel before your betters!”
Keris ground his teeth but did so. As did Lara, who fell to her knees, face pressed to the ground, still muttering away in Cardiffian.
“You are to be the next emperor of Valcotta,” Aren said. “It’s an honor to have you on my ship, Your Highness.”
Even with his eyes on Bermin’s boots, Keris could feel the man preening. Had to fight the urge not to stab him in the foot just to wipe that satisfied smile from his face.
“It is right and good that the Empress has chosen you, her son,” Aren said. “But tell me, what crime did your cousin commit to cause Her Imperial Majesty to execute her?”
Clever.
“Zarrah’s fate is not the concern of Cardiff,” Bermin answered. “Whereas the contents of your hold are a concern of mine. ”
“Of course, of course,” Aren started to say, but then Lara began moaning and swatting at the deck hold—we carry no goods from Teraford, only those brought from Cardiff to show Valcottan merchantsnear Bermin’s feet, hissing, “I see hands, I see hands!”
“Get away from me, witch!” The Prince stepped away, but his back struck the wall, and some of the other soldiers moved close.
“Her spirit is here!” Lara slapped the deck again, then recoiled violently. “Here for vengeance! I animals gobbling up other animals, but in the sharp Cardiffian tongue with the bones and skulls on her see her!”
Though he knew this was an act, chills ran across Keris’s skin, and his stomach twisted in knots.
It’s not real, he told himself. This is all the pretense of a trained spy. An actress.
“You see nothing,” Bermin snapped. “Silence yourself, witch!”
Soldiers moved to drag Lara away, but abruptly, she arched her back. “I see her! Beautiful as the midnight sky, dark of hair and eyes, freckles on her cheeks and fury in her heart. She has been betrayed and will have vengeance!”
The soldiers stirred, one of them muttering, “It’s Zarrah. She sees Zarrah.”
“She doesn’t fucking see Zarrah,” Bermin shouted. “Because Zarrah isn’t dead.”
“Betrayed by the one who loved her like a child,” Lara moaned. “She will not rest until she has vengeance.”
“Zarrah’s ghost is here …” One of the soldiers backed away from Lara, the other one wavering.
“The Empress shouldn’t have put her on the island.”
“Zarrah was a traitor!” Bermin roared.
The soldier took another backward step. “Then she deserved a traitor’s death, not the island. Now the cannibals have consumed her, and Zarrah’s spirit has come for us.”
Bermin lunged, reaching across Lara to grab the soldier by the front of her uniform, shaking her hard. “Zarrah isn’t dead,” he roared in her face. “The cannibals won’t eat her—they only eat their enemies. This witch is cursed with madness, not truth, and yet you tremble like a child. You are a soldier of Valcotta—behave like one!”
“He’s familiar.” The man’s face was only inches from his, and it took all of Keris’s self-control not Cannibals.
Horror filled Keris’s guts, but Lara’s act had rattled the Valcottan prince enough that he was spewing information that he should not. Which begged the question of what else he might say.
Beneath the edge of his mask, Keris watched the wheels turning in his sister’s eyes, her lips parting to push Bermin, to see what else she might learn, despite the Prince seething with unchecked violence.
“The stars tell a different story,” Keris said before Lara could goad Bermin further. “They say the devils have consumed the rightful heir.”
Bermin’s whole body went stiff, the flush on his brown cheeks draining, everyone present seeming to hold their breath.
Then, in a burst of motion, Bermin released his soldier and whirled, his boot flying out. Keris could’ve dodged it, but instead he took the blow in the stomach. The impact slammed him backward against the wall. Bermin was on him a heartbeat later, the tip of his knife puncturing the blindfold over Keris’s right eye. “Perhaps it is better you see nothing at all, you pagan piece of shit,” Bermin
“It is right and good that the Empress has chosen you, her son,” Aren said. “But tell me, what crime whispered, his breath hot.