Breaking the Gloaming (14 page)

“I like your confidence,” the king said, pulling Ravien closer. “What do you think, Malam?”

“I like her confidence if it is placed in you,” the priest answered. “None shall stand against you, once you have the full blessing of our divine ancestors.”

“I will be of age within the month,” the young man explained to Ravien. “Will you join me for the royal journey to our shrine?”

“There is nothing I would rather do,” Ravien said in her most awe-inspired and passionate voice.

“Is this wise?” Malam grumbled. “A woman, a foreign woman, coming with you as you become fully god?”

“Let her see my power,” the king answered, “and that will remove your doubts as to her loyalty. Even a former Valemidas princess cannot resist a divine king.”

“Surely not.” Ravien laughed and clutched his arm, pressing her side to his as they entered the palace. “It is hard to resist now,” her voice became somber, “but for my brother’s honor, you know I must wait until you have the Valemidas throne.”

“It will be mine,” the king said with boyish determination.

“Then I will be yours,” Ravien said.

Malam mumbled something under his breath but did not speak aloud. Ravien felt it was a victory. The priest did not have complete control over His Excellency, which left her room to maneuver.

The three of them walked into the palace’s grand hall, trailed by a host of Sunan warriors. Golden light streamed through the arches high above onto the white marble floor. Ravien thought that she, the king, and the priest were like a three-headed snake slithering on that floor. The snake’s body—the warriors behind them—could serve them all, but the snake’s heads played and snapped at each other. If she could dodge Malam’s bite, her venom would continue its work on the king. It was the sweet venom of desire. There was no finer venom against a young man who had everything else he wanted.

Chapter 14

LIGHT FROM A SMUGGLER

“The black market was
 

a way of getting around
 

government controls.

It was a way of enabling
 

the free market to work.

It was a way of opening up,
 

enabling people.”

Jon set out from Valemidas with his horse and a bag of gold. He did not plan to buy anything from the smuggler, but one never knew.

It was a brisk fall morning without a cloud in the sky. The wind blew hard from the Aerith Sea to the east, rippling the grasses that stretched as far as Jon could see to the north and west. Cliffs dropped to his right. Jagged rocks arose from the crashing waves far below. 

Jon loved this ride. It washed away the stress and emotions of the past months. He had done all that Andor had asked—moving into the palace, staying by his side, and training soldiers for battle. He had done all that Yates had asked—taking Mailyn into his quarters, keeping her secret, and relaying his message to Andor. As a result of all his obedience, Jon was tired and his heart was in knots. 

Now he had a day off duty. He did not have to listen to people beg Andor for things. He did not have to teach men how to hold a sword. He did not have to pretend he had not fallen for the pregnant woman who lived with him. He just got to ride hard and breathe deep the salty air.

By the time he reached the hidden cove, the sun was high and his head was mostly clear. Among the dozens of coves he had ridden past, this was the only one with the small marker post he and Wren had left here long ago. 

It had been almost ten years since the smuggler had first told them of the cove. It was a perfect smuggling port. Only a master sailor could guide his vessel into the cove, and only at high tide. Because of the steep cliffs on all sides, jutting out at various angles, a boat in the cove was invisible to the rare person passing by above. Most importantly, there was a razor-thin trail that crosscut its way down from the top of the cliffs to the water. 

Jon tied his horse to the post and gave her a bag of oats. She nuzzled his arm. The red mare would need the rest and food to make it back to Valemidas by nightfall.
 

He then began to make his way down. The footing was treacherous and a fall meant death. He focused on each step, avoiding any loose rocks, and hugging the cliff wall. At least going up was easier than down, he thought as he finally reached the bottom.

A boat was there, but it was unlike anything Jon had ever seen. The ebony wood and dark blue sail would make it difficult to detect in the open sea. The strangest thing was that, where every other vessel had a single hull, this one had two. They were long and streamlined, with a tight canvas floor pulled taut between them. In the center, under the mast, a structure was suspended above the water. It looked like a barrel on its side, with windows.

“Hello?” Jon’s voice echoed in the chasm as he approached the boat. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A few moments passed before a door opened in the sideways barrel. The sound of laughter flooded into the cove. The smuggler stepped out with two women behind him. They were each shoeless and sparsely clad. 

“Jon!” The man shouted, holding out his arms in welcome. He glanced back to the women. “Ladies,” he pointed at Jon, “the man who stands before us is the finest knight in this land. He could fight a dozen of Sunan’s best and live to tell about it. Come with me, have a look.”
 

The smuggler took off running toward Jon, along the canvas floor of the boat. The women followed at his heels.

“Cid, I’m not sure—” Jon began, but the smuggler and the women had already dived into the water. It was crystal clear. They swam like fish across the short distance to the shore. Jon was puzzling over why the man would risk having these women with him when they walked up to him, soaked and laughing.

“Look at the height of him,” Cid said through deep breaths. “Feel his muscles.” He flexed his own arm. “This man makes his enemies cower in fear.” 

The women eyed him. They both had long dark hair and bronzed skin hardly covered by wet cloth. Tattoos of the moon and stars were on their temples. One of them reached out as if to put her arm around Jon’s bicep.
 

Jon stepped back. “I am here, Cid. You told me to show up again the day after the second full moon. I expected it was for something important.”

“Oh it is,” the smuggler shrugged. “But surely you have learned my passions in this life? I much prefer company for my voyages.” He smiled at the girls. “Rum does not taste the same alone. You have earned my trust, Jon, so I thought I would introduce you to my friends.”

He gestured to the women, who now held their arms across their chests, shivering. “This is Dalia and Nila.” The women bowed gracefully. “They asked me to steal them away from a Sunan temple and smuggle them across the ocean,” Cid said. “Who was I to say no?”
 

“Well met,” Jon said to the women. “You are freezing.” He looked to Cid. “What is your intent here?”

“My intent is to make you smile, before I deliver what I have to deliver.” The smuggler pulled back a wet lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. Jon noticed for the first time that the tattoos at his temples included pyramids, identical to Sebastian’s, though with different markings around them, too detailed to make out. 

The smuggler looked over Jon’s shoulder. “Come, I have wood ready for a fire.” 

Jon and the women followed him to the base of the opposite cliff wall. A small stack of driftwood was there. The smuggler kneeled down beside it and pulled out a dagger and a flint. He brought the fire to life and then held his hands out over it. The women huddled close.

“Sit.” The smuggler pointed to the sand beside the fire. Jon was growing skeptical, but he had already come this far. He sat. 

“Rum.” The smuggler pulled out a flask from his still-wet pants and held it out to Jon.

“You first,” Jon insisted.

“I hoped you’d say that.” Cid smiled wide and took a long pull. “Just what I needed to warm my body.” He passed the flask to the women, who each sipped at it. “We rarely travel this far north this late in the year,” Cid explained. “It’s too cold.”

The woman to Jon’s right gave him the flask. He drank and passed it back. He breathed out heavily and leaned back, his hands on the sand behind him. The warmth of the fire and the rum were nice.

“See,” the smuggler said, “you just needed some rum. Aha, there’s the smile! Okay, now we can talk business, good knight.”

“To business,” Jon agreed. He would have to leave soon to arrive in Valemidas before night.

“I have a note from your brother.” Cid leaned forward. His tanned face and salt-and-pepper hair looked orange in the firelight.
 

“I am relieved to hear that.” Jon tried to keep his cool. He was ecstatic, but better not to reveal too much to this man. “Tell me you saw him. How is he?”

“I did not see him,” Cid said. “He is being held captive in a comfortable place, forced to serve a royal Sunan merchant.”
 

“Captive?” Jon asked. He was frustrated by how little he knew of Wren’s purposes on this trip. “What did he do to deserve that? What of Ravien?”

“They are Valemidans visiting Sunan in a time of war, in a time when such voyages are prohibited. Rumors say the princess stripped down before a thousand men, refused to bow to His Excellency, and then marched straight up to him and dumped the head of Ramzi on his lap. Now, apparently, she is His Excellency’s consort. Some woman, I’d say.”

“What! That cannot be true.” Jon failed to hide the passion in his voice.
 

“Now there’s the Jon I remembered. You have fire in your eyes, energy in your core. Before I give you Wren’s note, you’ll answer a couple questions.” Cid poked at the fire. “What has you down, friend? The prince in a foul mood? Woman troubles?”
 

“I am not in the mood to talk about that,” Jon replied.
 

“So it is woman troubles. I knew it!” Cid looked up and held out his flask again. “More rum?”

Jon shook his head. “Show me the note and maybe I’ll tell you about her.” He wanted to be sure the paper existed.

The smuggler pulled a note from his pocket and held it out, too close to the flames for Jon’s comfort. Cid’s other hand still had the flask.

“A woman moved into my quarters,” Jon said. The smuggler pulled the note back further away from the fire, his face gleaming like a devious boy.
 

“It is not what you think,” Jon continued. “She is beautiful. Her blond hair takes on the most amazing shine in the sunlight.” Jon took the flask and a sip of rum. “She carries a baby, and she has no idea how I feel about her.”

“You dog!” Cid laughed. “I know that problem, my friend, all too well. The secret will be up soon enough. Just tell her you love her. It’s plain enough to my eyes and ears.”

“No, well…” Jon was not going to mention Tryst, her name, or any of the rest of it.
 

“Look, Jon, I will tell it to you straight.” The smuggler sounded serious for once. Then, as if catching himself, he stopped before saying more. He glanced to the silent women at his sides. They might as well have been statues for how quiet they were.
 

“You ladies should head back to the ship now,” Cid said. “We’ll be there soon to look at the goods we brought. Could you lay them out?”

The women said something in the Sunan tongue. They rose and sauntered over to the water. After a brief hesitation, they waded in and swam to the boat, this time more like wet cats than fish.

“As I was saying,” Cid’s words pulled Jon’s attention back. “You sound like a man who has met a true love. You may not believe it seeing me now, but long ago, I was in your position. She was unlike anything I had ever seen, and I’ve never seen her like since.” Sadness filtered through Cid’s steady voice. “I regret not a single moment I spent with her. I regret not a single word of love, of passion, of devotion I whispered in her ear. Do not hold back, man. You cannot know how long you will have with her. Life can be a fickle, short thing.”

“I did not know,” Jon said, at a loss.
 

“Every man has his secrets. The past is behind me now, but it always creeps back. I try to obscure it with adventure and pleasures.” He nodded toward the boat behind him. “Still, deep in here,” he tapped his chest, “my love burns, more real than anything that’s come in my life since.”
 

He sat quietly for a moment, then took a long drink of rum and his eyes came back to life.
 

“Enough of that!” He clapped his hands loudly. “Tell me about your prince, Andor. How is he?”

The man’s advice had taken Jon aback. “Andor,” Jon said, “yes, he is doing well, but he worries about this threat of war. He would rather have peace.”

“Peace…” The smuggler let the word hang in the air. “What your prince wants hardly matters at this point. The Sunans are prepared for war. His Excellency will soon reach the age of command, and then nothing will hold him back. Expect them on your shores in a few months. Here.” Cid held out the note.

Jon took it and read it. He sighed upon seeing Wren’s unique script. He longed for his brother to be here. He would know what to say to the smuggler. Jon was not supposed to be the one running deals like this.

The words corroborated what Cid had said, and more. War was coming. Wren was a captive. Ravien had a voice in the Sunan leader’s ear. Good could come from that. He memorized the cryptic message for Andor and then tossed the note into the fire.

“I like your determination, Jon,” the smuggler said. “I have a few other items you might be interested in. Sample Sunan weapons for your prince to study, a note destined for Sebastian, and a spectacular ivory bracelet for your love. That’s just the start. How much gold do you have?”
 

“Enough.” Jon had to be careful not to show his hand. His bag of gold would have bought another fancy boat like Cid’s.

“Enough means different things for different men. I need more than enough. I am building a fortune. I want a distant tropical island to call my own, and an army to protect it. I need gold and lots of it.”