DeVilliers cocked her head, as if still puzzled. “Such as?”
“They are fierce fighters,” Evan said. “Very difficult to kill.”
He deflected three more questions before the Fellsian captain realized that he’d said all he was going to say on that topic. That didn’t mean that she was out of questions.
“So you’re from Carthis,” she mused. “Tell me, have you ever heard of a musical instrument called a ‘jafasa’?”
Evan could not fathom why this captain would be asking this particular question at this particular time. He nodded. “They are traditional instruments used by the horselords of Carthis, because they are light and portable. They are rare these days, because they are so difficult to play.”
DeVilliers toyed with a small dagger, flipping it and catching it in a way that might cost anyone else a finger. “Are they . . . magical at all?”
“Only in that they are good for making the time pass more quickly,” Evan said.
“You’ve explained these red mages. Tell me, have you ever seen a mage with an amulet embedded in his skin?”
This time, at least, Evan was somewhat prepared for the verbal cannonball. Still, it was all he could do to maintain his relaxed stance, to resist taking hold of his amulet and fighting his way out of the room. Evan sensed Teza and Brody shifting their weight, leaning forward, preparing to fight or flee.
He conjured up a puzzled frown. “Are you speaking of someone in particular? Someone you have seen or heard of?” Was someone asking about magemarks recently?
“I . . . I’ve heard about it and wondered if it was true,” DeVilliers said.
As a liar, she had a long way to go.
Sticking with bewilderment, he said, “Is it supposed to be something that was done intentionally, or was it the result of a horrible accident?”
She laughed. “I just wondered if you’d seen that before, is all.” After a pause, she fortunately changed the subject. “Is my queen expecting you?”
Evan considered lying, but decided that might lead to trouble later on. “No,” he said.
“Why would she want to meet with you? What kind of trade are you proposing?”
Maybe it was because Evan knew that she didn’t believe his cover story. Maybe it was because she seemed like a kindred spirit. But he found himself telling the truth.
Sort of.
“Actually, the most important thing I have to offer is information and a possible alliance,” Evan said.
“An alliance with a notorious pirate without a ship?” DeVilliers laughed. “That seems like a good way to end with your throat cut and your purse stolen.”
“I have ships at home,” Evan said, growing testy in spite of himself. “We sail both the Desert Coast and the wetland coast from the Southern Islands to Invaders Bay. Your navy is small, and stretched thin. There’s no reason we cannot travel with a full hold both ways.”
“So you’ll sell us goods and then steal from us?”
“Frankly, the takings are better farther south,” Evan said. “Everything we steal from Arden helps you. Plus, we can alert you to dangers that you might not anticipate.” Evan stopped with that.
DeVilliers was giving him a close look-over, too. Finally, she seemed to have come to a decision.
“I will see the queen tomorrow, and will let her know about your desire for a meeting.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Evan said. “I hope you’ll let her know how much I—”
“I’ll make no promises. This is a bad time to request an audience. I’ll send a message to you here at the inn if I’m able to arrange something.”
Evan wanted to go on, to tell this navy captain about the danger bearing down on Chalk Cliffs, especially because she was bent on returning there. But he couldn’t risk it. She did, after all, look like a pirate. There was no telling who she really sailed for.
After all, Tully Samara sailed for Latham Strangward. Until he didn’t.
18
BACK FROM THE DEAD
Adrian sul’Han and Lila Byrne took the North Road from Ardenscourt to the border at Marisa Pines Pass, finally traveling the way they’d planned, back in the fall, before their long and eventful winter in the Ardenine capital.
Ash had accomplished his mission. The king of Arden was dead, and an alliance between Arden and the mysterious empress in the east had been averted, but this small triumph still tasted like ashes in his mouth. Given a choice, would he have traded Jenna’s death for King Gerard’s?
He’d not been offered a choice, and what was done was done. He recalled an argument he’d had with his teacher, Taliesin Beaugarde, back at Oden’s Ford, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“The day will come that you’ll wish you were a better healer,” the Voyageur had said.
“Teach me how to raise the dead,” he’d said, “and then we’ll talk.”
He still believed that. Even the most skilled healer can only delay the inevitable. Eventually, they lose. Killers and healers both work the borderlands between life and death. The difference is that, at best, healing is a temporary victory. The dead stay dead.
Their chosen road took them through Delphi, now ruled by a coalition of Delphian patriots. The town was swarming with travelers, so that it wasn’t easy to find a place to stay. The snows had been deep and relentless in late winter, and many travelers had stayed longer than they’d planned on, waiting for better weather. The city was in a bit of a hangover from its recent victory celebration, now grappling with the hard work of self-rule. There was still at least a salvo of Highlanders working with the fledgling Delphian army, but no one they knew.
So, in the interest of speed and safety, Ash and Lila did not announce themselves. He preferred not to have his return to the queendom heralded by a bird from Delphi. His father had given him a message for his mother when he lay dying on the streets of Ragmarket. Ash felt like he owed it to his mother to deliver it in person. Lila, too, seemed eager to move on, so they pushed on north after spending just one night in the gritty mining town.
The road north was crowded, too, in both directions. Families separated by the long occupation were taking advantage of the open border to visit relatives they hadn’t seen in decades.
Security was still tight at the border crossing between Delphi and the queendom. The border officer seemed to know Lila, though, and so accepted her companion, Ash Hanson, a farrier from Tamron. Ash kept expecting to see someone he knew, worrying that he might be recognized, but it didn’t happen. He guessed he was scarcely recognizable as the bookish, solitary thirteen-year-old who’d disappeared after his father’s murder.
As they climbed toward the pass, the air carried the sweet promise that spring would come. At lower altitudes, he saw maiden’s kiss and trout lily, buttercups and foamflowers and trillium. The names came back to him readily, as if he’d never been away. Who knew that the memory of flowers went so deep? Whenever they stopped to rest the horses, even Lila picked a few sprigs from the roadside. Who knew that Lila was fond of flowers?
At higher altitudes, flowers became scarce, and eventually the trail changed from mud to beaten-down snow. The high pass was a tunnel of weeping ice that would freeze again with nightfall. Now, the wind blew down from Hanalea, carrying with it the lonely sound of howling wolves. Gooseflesh rose on Ash’s neck and arms.
When the wolves walk, the queendom is in danger. That’s what the clan elders said.
The wolves are always walking in this queendom, Ash thought.
For once, Lila did more thinking than talking. Just past the top of the pass, she reined in and dismounted, then walked along the trailside, as if searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” Ash looked down at her from atop his pony.
“Here it is.” Lila dropped to her knees beside a half-buried stone marker. Using her gloved hands, she brushed snow away from it, then laid a small bunch of flowers on top.
“What is that?”