Oathen (24 page)

Why hasn’t Geret returned with Count
Runcan?
Thoughts of the devastating volcano and quake ripples
flashed through his head.
Wisdom, let Geret be
alive!

He entered his private office suite, closing
the door behind him. The white-and-gilt walls usually soothed him,
reminding him of his favorite library, but not this time. Imorlar,
Runcan, and a curly-haired woman dressed as a Kirthan courtesan
rose from their chairs near a crackling fireplace and turned to
face him.

“Sire,” began Runcan, “may I present Anjoya
Meseer, lately of Lesser Salience, in Hynd. Among her many talents
are stage acting, storytelling, formal entertaining, games of
chance and feast organization. Anjoya, Beret Branbrey, His Wisdom
the Lord High Magister of Vint.”

The woman dropped an exquisite curtsey—no
small feat considering her gown’s skirt was form-fitting and
slashed more than halfway up one leg.

“It is a true honor to finally meet the great
Magister of Vint,” she murmured. Beret found her voice rich and
pleasing. “Prince Geret has told me much about you and his beloved
homeland.”

“As I recall, he couldn’t wait to get away,”
Beret said.

Anjoya smiled. “I believe it was the food he
was pining for most, Magister.”

Beret’s face relaxed into a smile. “That’s
more like the Geret I know.”

Anjoya looked at his hand. “You have a young
son?” she asked.

Beret looked down as well; in his hand he
clutched a bright yellow wagon. A long moment passed, and he
wrestled his sadness and anger back under control. “No, not young
anymore. I was…just reminiscing with him. He’s not
well.”

She seemed to realize she’d trod into
forbidden territory. “I’m sorry, Magister. I hope his health is
restored soon.”

The deepest hope of my heart, encompassed
in the gentle words of a stranger
. “Thank you, as do I.” He
turned his eye on Runcan. “So, where is my nephew?”

Runcan launched into detailing the fate of
Geret’s expedition. Beret bade everyone sit, then listened with
only the occasional interruption for further detail. He had already
learned about the two pirates and the Dock District riots from
those disgruntled Vintens whom Geret had turned away from the
expedition outside the walls of Yaren Fel. Now he learned much
more: the “unscheduled” stop at Ha’Hril to get the key to the
Dire
Tome
’s prison; the sea monster attack, the
deaths of Beret’s traitorous Counts, and the temporary loss of the
Shanallar; the quake ripples that destroyed the remainder of the
Vinten expedition; meeting Kemsil Urondarei; hiding Geret in the
Salience Harbor reconstruction project while Runcan brokered trade
deals with the caliph; and the reappearance of the Shanallar,
aboard a pirate fleet bound for Shanal. He also heard Runcan’s
summary of his and Anjoya’s voyage back to Cyrmant, complete with
crowds of refugees, a shattered island, and a speedy voyage with
pirates who dropped them off in Yaren Fel during a night
raid.

When Runcan finally finished speaking, Beret
sat back, exhausted merely from listening to the harrowing
adventures his nephew had endured. “Wisdom’s head,” he murmured.
“So many lives lost. I’ll need to get their names from the
expedition manifest, contact their families.”

“I’ll see to it, Sire,” Imorlar
said.

“Geret took their loss hard,” Runcan said.
“His determination got us to Salience in one piece, but he suffered
plenty of guilt over their deaths.”

Beret harrumphed. “I’m the one who sent them,
not Geret. The guilt is ultimately mine.”

“I think it may have driven him onward to
Shanal,” Runcan continued, “knowing that he had only himself to
worry for anymore. Sanych was under the direct protection of the
Shanallar, and Kemsil and Salvor were accompanying him out of
unswerving loyalty. He’d managed to foster a relationship with the
heir to Clan Agonbloom of the Southern Sea Clans as well, and
telling her ‘no thanks’ meant waiting far longer for transport to
Shanal.”

Beret leaned forward, gripping the carved
wooden arms of his chair. “Can they still succeed?”

Runcan nodded. “The Shanallar brought Salvor
back from the far edge of death, Sire. I believe it’s very possible
that she can protect such a small party from the cult’s
wrath.”

“And what of her conflicting goal? She
demanded that the book be destroyed. Geret’s going there to bring
it back intact. Is this an unsolvable dilemma?” Thoughts of Addan’s
fate if the book were never retrieved threatened to invade his
mind, throwing off his emotional equilibrium. He took a deep breath
and put them out of his mind.

Runcan looked uncomfortable. “I’m afraid that,
with one side being immortal, the issue is unlikely to be resolved
in Geret’s favor, Sire. Sanych did have some theories on how the
two disparate plans might be woven into one, but without knowing
the true nature of the book in question, it’s impossible to say
whether she had any viable options.”

Imorlar spoke up. “I’ve nothing but glowing
reports on Sanych’s capabilities from Master Godric at the Temple.
If anyone can manage to solve the unsolvable, it’s her. After all,
she did find a woman whose existence was supposed to be
impossible.”

Beret knotted his fingers together, holding in
his frustration and anxiety, willing them away. “All right, then.
At best, we are at least two seasons away from hearing word of
Geret’s success or failure. At worst, we’ll never hear
anything.”

Anjoya quickly looked down, hiding her
expression. Beret made the connection. “You know Kemsil well, don’t
you?”

“I do, Magister.”

“I get the impression you left Hynd in a
rather permanent fashion; has Runcan arranged housing for you here
in Vint yet?”

“Ah, no, Sire,” Runcan said. “We were more
focused on arriving here in one piece.”

“Then let me atone for my Count’s lack of
manners; you shall be my own guest here in the palace.”

“Magister…” Anjoya didn’t seem to know how to
protest.

“No, I insist. After all, you have more in
common with me than anyone else in Vint. Not many can claim that
distinction.”

She gave him a lovely, grateful smile, and
Beret was reassured that he’d made a sound offer. Or perhaps he was
just mooning over her. He hadn’t had much opportunity for the
company of a politically unaffiliated woman since his dear wife had
passed, many years ago.

“Er. This may seem like an odd question,” he
began.

“I am at your complete disposal, my lord,” she
assured him.

He held up the painted toy. “Do you, perhaps,
know any good bedtime stories?”

~~~

Geret woke blearily and scrubbed at his face
with his hands. When he finally blinked his eyes open wide enough
to focus, a face was gazing down at him.

“Morning, sweet dreamer.”

Geret frowned. “What do you want,
Salvor?”

“Just inquiring if my prince enjoyed his
evening, and whether he awoke refreshed and rested for our journey
ashore to defeat a monstrous, evil cult today.”

Geret paused as he was about to utter a snide
retort, eyes widening as recent memories began to filter in.
Glimmering eyes, warm flesh, low laughter… His words emerged in a
desperate whisper. “Oh, Folly.”

“Well put. I thought I’d warned you against
drinking too much with her.”

“You…came and got me?” Geret winced at the
thought of his indiscretion being witnessed.

“Someone had to.”

Geret covered his eyes with his palms,
pressing until the world went black. “Shouldn’t have had so much of
that weird green drink. What was I thinking?”

Salvor looked annoyed. “You really make
insulting you too easy.”

Geret ignored him. “Sanych…does she
know?”

“Geret, the whole ship knows. Rhona’s in with
Siela and the fleet captains, and Meena and Sanych are up in the
aft castle with Kemsil, working on the last details of our
infiltration of Cish tonight. I was there too, until I decided to
see if you were conscious yet.”

“I should get up there,” he said, sitting
up.

His bodyguard handed him a clean shirt. “You
woke up suicidal today, I see.” As Geret pulled it over his head,
Salvor asked diffidently, “You want me to pave the way for you
before you go up?”

Salvor, offering to help my relationship
with Sanych?
A sinking feeling twisted his intestines into a
knot.
I must have bedded Rhona, after all.

“No; we’ve got to focus on the next step in
the quest. Getting distracted now is just going to make things
worse. If that’s even possible.”

Salvor tipped his head in acknowledgment and
left the cabin.

Geret closed his eyes and dropped his head
into his hands. His uncle might have understood the necessity of
staying in Rhona’s cabin for the good of the expedition, but he
would be furious at Geret’s lack of discretion, drinking a
mysterious elixir with a grasping pirate who wanted to bear his
child for the good of her political career. More immediately, Geret
was horrified at what Sanych must be feeling.

I can’t actually remember bedding
Rhona, he thought desperately. But I don’t remember Salvor coming
in, either… He hasn’t said what he saw, and I’m pretty sure I never
want to hear that description coming out of Salvor’s mouth. What in
Folly’s dirty dishwater was in that green drink?

~~~

As Geret emerged on deck, he saw sailors
packing a longboat with supplies as it dangled against the hull
next to the port rail. The morning air was crisp, carrying a hint
of pine among the more maritime scents of beached kelp, tar and
brine.

Geret made his way up the aft castle stairs,
keeping a steadying hand on the rail. Salvor trailed behind him.
Kemsil noticed him first, looking over with a smile.

“I’ve got no details for you, Kemsil,” Geret
said preemptively, holding up a stalling hand. “Don’t even ask.” He
looked at Sanych, hoping she took his words in the most innocent
way, but she jerked her gaze from his and looked at Meena
instead.

The Shanallar turned to face Geret. “Decided
to complete your quest after all, did you? Anything you want the
cult to steal from you, haul it up on deck for the crew to pack
into the longboat. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the tide. Ruel
says it won’t be long.”

Kemsil glanced at the Circuit and let out a
slow breath. “Soon we’ll know whether the magic that made this can
stand up to the cult’s spells. If it’s going to fail, I hope we
make shore first.”

“Sanych, I…may I speak with you over here for
a moment?” Geret began, stepping away from the others. She didn’t
move. Her heated stare nearly raised smoke from his shirt. He
gritted his teeth and stepped close to her shoulder. “Sanych,
please believe me. I can’t explain what happened last
night—”

“I can.” She spoke through her teeth. “I
didn’t mysteriously go deaf during the night. After Salvor’s
deception, which at least had some sort of purpose behind it, you’d
think I’d learn, but no. Folly’s caught me twice with the same
hook. Well, she can have the pair of you for chopping into bait for
all I care. And what would your uncle say if he knew? I’ll tell you
what he’d say: that I’m the last true Vinten on this Folly-ridden
ship! I can’t wait until he reads my account of this part of the
quest. Preferably aloud. To the entire court. You must be Folly’s
favorite child. And her scullery maids don’t get more
cainor
than Rhona.”

Salvor and Geret exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
Kemsil covered his mouth, looking agog, but Geret couldn’t tell if
he was concealing a grin or a gasp. When he looked back to Sanych,
he saw her hand draw back as if to strike him. As he raised his
hands in a placating gesture, Meena approached her and gently put a
hand on her arm.

“Don’t injure him much. We need him to
row.”

Geret gave her a disapproving glance, but she
shrugged it off and drew him over to the fore rail of the castle,
away from Sanych.

“This might be a good time for you to review
the four different levels of Shanallese apology. I’ll let you
decide which you might need in this situation, depending on the
amount of offense you have given—which seems obvious—and whether
the offense was an accident, or premeditated.” Her eyes slid to
meet his, and in them he read disappointment. Not anger, nor even
reproach, but from a woman he’d nearly idolized for months, her
judgment was worse than a sword thrust.

He lowered his head, eyes on the planks
underfoot. “Meena, how am I supposed to apologize to her when I
can’t even remember what—”

“Tide’s calling our names!” Rhona hollered,
her voice carrying across the deck. Behind her, Siela and the fleet
captains emerged from below deck. Rhona clattered up the stairs to
the castle, bellowing orders, and her crew scattered across the
deck and up into the rigging. The anchor clanked up from the
shallow sea bed beneath the keel, and the sails billowed taut with
wind.