“We should fight our way out,” Jorani said, producing a dagger from some hidden place. Evan half-expected her to come up with a bow and a quiver of arrows and a trebuchet as well.
“If we try to fight our way out, I will be killed, and you won’t,” Evan said. He brushed at his fine breeches, which by now were looking less fine. “How is that helpful?”
She seemed stumped by that question. After a moment’s pause, she stowed the blade away.
The bloodsworn turned Stormborn were the fiercest, most loyal crew he’d ever known, but they were like children in some ways. They could be led, but they weren’t skilled at making decisions on their own.
Celestine probably likes it that way, he thought, but I don’t. I could use a little help.
When Evan arrived at the small hall, his interrogators were waiting for him. All the faces were at least marginally familiar. The wolf queen. Captain Byrne. The queen’s niece, Lady Barrett. The queen’s sister, the princess Mellony. Lord Bayar, the High Wizard. Hadley DeVilliers. The upland mage, Shadow Dancer. Corporal Talbot, who’d brought the news of the fall of Chalk Cliffs. And, of course, the healer—Prince Adrian sul’Han, who sat in the corner nearest the hearth, his face in and out of shadow.
In Ardenscourt, sul’Han had always worn drab healer’s colors, so it was a bit of a shock to see him dressed in velvets and satin. The prince had his mother’s eyes, with a bit more blue in them, and a hint of her coppery complexion below his coppery hair.
Evan was beginning to realize that there was no way to win over the queen if he didn’t win over the healer. Sul’Han was the son of the queen, after all, and blood trumps everything else. Even if she believed what Evan had to say, when it came to a choice, she would choose her own blood. That was the way the world worked.
But winning over the healer was going to be like climbing a mountain from deep underground. It would help considerably if Evan could convince him that Jenna was still alive.
Talbot opened the session with a brisk overview of what had happened in Chalk Cliffs. It was all too familiar.
“This is what the empress does,” Evan said. “For the past five years, she has been systematically winning the free cities of the Desert Coast. First, infiltration by her bloodsworn. Then, the taking of the port, the off-loading of her armies, and an invasion that extends her control as far as the Dragonbacks. Here, let me show you.” He’d brought his maps along, and he laid them out on the table and traced the backbone of Carthis from north to south.
“Where is her stronghold?” Captain Byrne leaned over the map.
“Here.” Evan unfurled another map, an older one, of the Northern Islands at the time that they were conquered by the Nazari family. “I found this in your temple library,” he said. “I assume this was brought here by some of those who fled Nazari rule eons ago. It’s out of date, but the geography should be the same.”
He turned the map so that Byrne could get a better look. “For years, the Northern Islands have been battered by storms that made it difficult even to approach the shoreline,” he said. “In recent years, the weather has seemingly improved. Celestine has been rebuilding the ancient Nazari capital of Celesgarde on one of the Weeping Sisters—I’m not sure which one.”
“The Weeping Sisters?” The queen cocked her head. “I’m not familiar with those.”
“They are three islands in the Northern Islands that are known for volcanic activity—like many of the mountains in the Fells. I’ve not been there, but I would expect that the defenses would be formidable.”
The healer watched silently throughout the geography lesson, taking notes, the scratch of his quill audible now and then when the conversation died.
“The empress’s ships carried off dozens of prisoners,” Barrett said, “including one of our best officers. Based on past practice, where would she take them and what—what does she intend to do with them?”
Evan looked from face to face, seeking clues. The atmosphere in the room was fraught, full of tension, unstable, seething with secrets. It reminded Evan of when a storm was about to break, the clouds piling up, the air so thick with electricity that it was difficult to breathe.
“Would this officer be Captain Gray?” he said.
The whole room flinched—all except the healer, who went very, very still.
“What do you know about Captain Gray?” Barrett said.
“Just a guess,” Evan said disarmingly. “At the reception, Queen Raisa mentioned that a Captain Gray was at Chalk Cliffs, and expressed concerns about his safety. And now, it seems, all your worst fears have come true.”
From the looks on their faces, he’d struck a vein.
Who is this Captain Gray, and why is he so important?
“So,” Byrne said, breaking the silence, “going back to Lady Barrett’s earlier question . . . ?”
“She might very well take prisoners to Celesgarde,” Evan said. “On the other hand, she controls most of the Desert Coast, now, so it’s difficult to say. It would depend on how she intends to . . . use them. Most of her prisoners go directly into her bloodsworn army.”
“What does that mean, bloodsworn?” Talbot wore an expression of sick dread.
“They are bound to the empress in a blood ritual,” Evan said.
This was met with a collective shudder. Sul’Han ran a finger over his forearm, as if tracing a memory. He exchanged glances with the queen.
“Have you heard of an order of bloodthirsty priests called the Darian Brothers?” Queen Raisa asked abruptly. “Is there a connection?”
“Not to my knowledge, no,” Evan said. “I’ve not heard of them.”
That, at least, seemed to be the right answer.
“Your crewman Brody says that he was bloodsworn, and you ‘freed’ him,” Bayar said, speaking up for the first time. “Does that mean there is a way to undo the blood-magic charm once it’s cast?”
Evan struggled to come up with an answer. “I don’t know that you can undo it. Celestine doesn’t let go of anything easily. But it seems that you can replace it with something else. That’s what I did with the Stormborn. That is why their auras are red instead of purple.”
“So you are a blood mage also,” Bayar said, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“Apparently, yes.”
They all looked at one another. After a moment, Barrett cleared her throat and made a show of consulting her notes. “Why is the empress interested in the magemarked, as you call them?”
The questioning continued, covering much of the same ground as in his earlier meeting with them. Didn’t anyone take notes? He supposed that now they had more reason to be interested in what he had to say. Or maybe this repeat was for Talbot’s and the healer’s benefit. Talbot asked a few questions, but the healer remained silent. Evan kept looking at him, waiting for him to weigh in, make a face, dispute something he said, or provide additional information, but he didn’t.
That’s when Evan realized—the queen must have told sul’Han to keep quiet. Was it because she was angry with her son? Or was the intent to—what was the expression?—give Evan enough rope to hang himself?
“How is it that you are the only holdout along the Desert Coast?”
Evan wrenched himself back to the interrogation, realizing that Barrett had just asked him a question.
“I have built a fortified stronghold,” Evan said. “And I am one of only a few gifted ship’s masters that are left. That gives me an advantage. But I am under no illusion that we can hold out forever. I have to go to sea in order to make a living.”
“By attacking our ships and stealing our goods,” the queen said.
“It’s nothing personal,” Evan said. “We steal from everyone, northerner and southerner, Desert Coast and wetland coast. We are equal opportunity brigands in that regard.”
This was met with stony silence, finally broken by the queen.
“For the next series of questions, I’ve asked Lord Bayar to take over the questioning, and use persuasion. Are you familiar with that?”