She stumbled to her feet. Antony still knelt on the ground, utterly unmoving. She reached for his arm and touched cold stone. He’d been turned to stone…no, if he’d been petrified, she would have felt a tingle…wouldn’t she?
The moon came out again, shining into the alleyway. And she screamed, again, as she caught a glimpse of his face…
It was twisted in horrific agony.
Chapter One
THE AIR…STANK.
Emily was dimly aware, at the back of her mind, that someone was knocking on a wooden door. And yet, it didn’t seem important. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she was. The ground was shifting beneath her, sending up alarm bells she couldn’t quite hear. And yet…
“Emily,” a voice called. A male voice. “Wake up!”
Emily jerked awake. She was on a ship, she recalled; a merchant ship that did double duty as a warship, when the seafaring states went to war. And she was heading to Beneficence. And Casper was dead…
“I’m awake,” she managed. She opened her eyes. Her stomach muttered rebelliously. “I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Good,” General Pollack said. His voice was so close that she looked around in alarm before realizing he was on the far side of a wooden door. “Come meet me on the quarterdeck when you’re ready.”
Emily nodded as she heard the sound of his footsteps striding away. She was, as far as she knew, the only woman on the ship, although General Pollack had told her stories of young girls who’d run away to sea and somehow managed to conceal their gender for decades. Emily wasn’t sure how that was possible – she’d seen the crew quarters and their complete lack of privacy – but she was prepared to take his word for it. She might have tried to run away too, if she’d thought it possible. And, perhaps, if she’d had any stomach for seafaring. She’d been on the boat for five days and she still felt seasick.
We should have teleported, she thought. They had teleported to the nearest port, then called a ship to pick them up. But the general said it was tradition…
She sat upright, glancing around the cabin. It belonged to the captain, who’d flatly refused to let anyone else give up their sleeping space to the young sorceress, noblewoman and war heroine. Emily would have been more impressed if she hadn’t known that the captain had moved into his first mate’s cabin, who in turn had displaced the officer directly below him…she shook her head, telling herself that she should be grateful. The cabin was cramped and smelly, despite the gilded wooden bulkheads, but it was private. She’d seen the way some of the sailors – and officers – gawked at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.
Swinging her legs over the side, she stood, careful not to bang her head on the low ceiling as she slipped on her shoes. Sleeping in her clothes made her feel icky, but there was no way she’d wear a nightgown, let alone sleep naked, on the ship. She took some water from her canteen and splashed it on her face, then examined her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess – she hadn’t had a chance to take a hair-growth potion back in Farrakhan – and her face was pale, dark circles clearly visible around her eyes. She looked distressingly like a raccoon – or, perhaps, someone who’d come off worst in a fight. Her shirt and trousers looked unclean, as if they hadn’t been washed for a few days. Magic wasn’t good enough to clean them. The only real consolation was that most of the crew looked worse.
We should definitely have teleported, she thought, as she felt the deck shifting beneath her feet. Her legs wobbled, just for a second. I could have teleported us both back to Cockatrice and we could have crossed the bridge there.
She took a sip of seasickness potion – it wasn’t strong enough to provide more than minimal relief, but anything stronger would have impaired her mind – and headed for the door. General Pollack had insisted on taking his son’s remains home via ship, despite her objections. In hindsight, Emily told herself, she should have asked to remain at Farrakhan with Sergeant Miles or even asked the sergeant to prolong her apprenticeship for an additional couple of weeks. But she hadn’t.
The smell – too many humans in too close proximity, mingled with salt water – grew stronger as she pushed her way into the corridor. She could hear chatter coming from nearby, but she couldn’t see anyone. A metal grate, set within the wooden deck, led down to the lower decks. The sailors would be down there, she knew; the night crew would be trying to rest, even as the day crew went to work. She wondered, absently, why some of the crew were talking. They’d be keeping their comrades awake.
Or maybe not, she thought, as she walked into the next compartment. They’ll be so tired they can sleep through anything.
She drew in her breath as she saw the coffin, mounted neatly on a wooden block. It was a simple design, with a name and a handful of runes carved into the wood. And yet, it was empty. Casper’s body had been blasted into dust, the remains drifting down towards the nexus point and vanishing. No spell she knew could salvage anything that was indisputably Casper. But General Pollack had insisted on taking a coffin home anyway. Emily didn’t think that was healthy, yet she knew everyone grieved in their own way.
You’d think differently if you lost a child, she told herself. You’d want to believe that some of him had been laid to rest too.