Selena nodded, unsure what to say or if she should speak at all. She supposed she should thank them but the words stuck in her throat. The Zak’reth said nothing more and she knew they didn’t converse; they waited for orders. Her orders, and it mattered not that she didn’t serve the god Oshkat.
Another god has spoken to me. Helped me. She looked down at the burn on her wrist. A round patch of skin under her thumb was black and flaking off.
“Illuria,” she murmured and the burn healed. Strength returned to her body. And this is how the Shining face helps me. To heal my body from Bacchus’s attacks so that I might live long enough to close the greatest wound.
Accora had told her healing was the key to Bacchus’s defeat, and now Selena understood. In the thick of battle, there is no time to reach for an ampulla or the moon. The only mystery remained was why the god chose a Bazira as his vessel to instruct her but Selena no longer doubted. As she had told Ilior, if one waited long enough, the god’s light would reveal itself, no matter how dark the sky had been. And her sky had been cold and empty for ten long years.
Thunder bellowed. Lightning lit up the sky, tearing it open. The rain came down in sheets, soaking Selena instantly and turning the sand into a gritty mud. She turned her face up to the sky and let the rain fall into her parched mouth. Nothing tasted sweeter. Another gift. Selena almost laughed but a vein of steel was being forged within her and there was no time for laughter.
She turned and walked up the beach, her stride long and steady. A Bazira man lay face down in the sand. The pool of blood around his head was black in the darkness. She took up his sword. It was lighter than her own Paladin’s blade and the balance of it felt foreign. But it would do. For now.
Selena slipped the sword into her belt and peered through the pouring rain into the line of trees. Bacchus was in there, somewhere. Waiting for her. She laid her hand over the cold wound in her chest.
“This ends tonight,” she said, and marched into the forest.
Reborn
Niven peered through Cat’s spyglass but at Isle Calinda. A gray smudge on the gray waters, set against a gray sky. The seas were choppy, whipped by the wind of the encroaching storm. Cat’s seamanship had been miraculously good; after three days of sailing, they were only a few hours behind the Bazira ship. The frigate had also been a mere smudge on the horizon ahead of them, and Cat managed to keep it that way despite the Black Storm’s infirmities. The crew had been wary of Cat, both for her duplicitous disguise and for her purpose: to capture their beloved captain. But Niven knew she had earned their respect, regardless.
Cat ordered the crew to drop anchor and they did so without hesitation, just as they had obeyed every other command since Isle Saliz.
“We’ll sail under the cover of night,” she said. Ilior’s impatient pacing thumped around the quarterdeck behind her. “I’m not going to take her into a Bazira hold-out in broad daylight. Who knows what kind of numbers they have? We could be blown to bits by cannon before we even make landfall.”
Ilior didn’t argue but didn’t cease to pace either. Niven wanted to comfort him, but that would entail actually speaking to Ilior. No one wanted to speak to him. The Vai’Ensai’s mood was like the thunder that rolled in from the east; he appeared ready to break at any moment.
The anchor was dropped to a loud rattle of chains and the crew settled in to wait.
Grunt stayed close to both Cat and Ilior, his nervous gaze going between them. Niven thought he was waiting for the right time to plead his case. But he said nothing. Neither did Cat. Niven cleared his throat.
“I believe, now that we have…that is, there is some time to wait. I believe you owe us an explanation.” He looked at Grunt and Cat. “Both of you.”
The woman smirked and shrugged, but Grunt nodded. “Aye, lad. That’s so, that’s so.” He swept off his cap and ran a hand through his gray hair. “My name is Marcus Bailey. I met Sebastian four years ago. On the Isle of Lords. I was a merchant. A wealthy one with a large fleet…and lots of rivals.” He cast his gaze to the planking under their feet. “Sebastian was hired by one of those rivals to assassinate my family. And me.”
The pain in Marcus Bailey’s eyes and in the gruff timbre of his voice made Niven’s heart clang with dread. Behind him, Cur, Spit and Whistle climbed up to the quarterdeck to listen. Marcus took in his audience and cleared his throat.
“He killed them. Sebastian did….my wife, wife’s brother, my…son. And then he found me. I knew he was coming and I was packing. Books. My life was forfeit but I lingered in the ruins of my home and was stuffing books instead of food or coin into my bag.” He smiled tremulously, his gaze distant. “The stories, you see. That’s all I had left. The histories my wife loved. The adventure tales my son adored as a youth…I tried to take them with me. That and a long black coat.
“He recognized the coat, Sebastian told me. It had belonged to my son who he killed the night before. I stopped stuffing books into the bag and said, ‘You’re tall, like my son. This will fit you. It’s cold out tonight and you’re so thin.’
“Sebastian had been sick. What he was doing, it was making him sick. I handed him the coat and when he reached out to take it, I stabbed him with a knife he never saw me draw.
“‘You killed them all,’ I told him, ‘and so what do I have left? Only stories. Memories.’ I twisted the knife in his side and brought him to his knees. But he had been trained to handle pain. He’d sailed all over Lunos, learning the arts of death. I knew he could have twisted free and used my own knife, still wet with his own blood, to end me.
“‘This is your memory’, I told him. ‘All of them like this. Bloodstained. Have you had enough yet? I think you have, and pity that you didn’t start with me. I might’ve saved my son. My wife…’
“I held the knife a moment more and I almost…I almost stabbed him over and over. And he would have let me. He would have let me kill him, I’m sure of it. But instead I pulled it free and said, ‘Come. They’ll be here soon to take what’s left, those who hired you. My rivals. They’ll kill you and I’m too old to run alone. Get off the floor, you little shit. We’re going to start over, you and me.’ Then I threw the coat over him and hauled him to his feet.”
Marcus Bailey glanced up as if seeing those around him for the first time. He jerked his chin defiantly. “When we arrive on Calinda, we must focus on the rescue. Of both of them. Selena and Sebastian. Him too, lass,” he said to Cat. And then again to Ilior. “Him too.”
There was a silence among them all as the man’s story finally settled over them. Then Cat snorted loudly, breaking the spell of thick emotion Marcus had woven. Niven sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.