Princess at Sea (39 page)

“They aren't,” I said around my sobs. “It's replenishing itself. Jeck accidentally fixed the venom into my wound as it healed. It's there, replenishing itself just as it does in a punta. Even if I never taste toxin again, my residual levels won't ever drop. I'll never be rid of it. Never.” The tears flowed freely now, and I let them fall. I had wanted to be a player. I abandoned a life with love in it to have it, and now . . .

He held me as I cried, knowing that the tears weren't just for Contessa and Duncan, knowing they weren't for the days of hunger and uncertainty I had endured, or the pain and fear of my death. They were for saying good-bye to what I had been promised, to what I had pointed my entire life toward.

Though Kavenlow had meant to be reassuring, I knew that I could never be a player. My life with him was over. He would take another as his apprentice to succeed him in the game. There was no choice to be made. It was done.

I pushed the food around on my dinner plate, the muted
conversation between Jeck and Kavenlow all but unheard and uncomprehended as I sat in the small private dining room between the kitchen and the large banquet hall and pretended to eat. It had been designed as a staging area to prepare food for large gatherings, but those gatherings had been so far and few between that my parents had turned it into a casual dining hall. Tapestries decorated the stone walls, and torches lit the windowless room. My eyes lingered on the brightly lit fireplace where I had hid from Jeck a bare half a season ago, and I went more melancholy still.

In the few hours that I had been back in the palace, I had been brushed, combed, washed, dressed, primped, and fussed over until I all but shouted at Heather to leave me alone. I loved her dearly, but her unending prattle had seemed to incite the wind in my head instead of soothe it as Jeck's voice did, until it was as if the two of them were carrying on a rapid, excited gossip that neither of them were listening to.

Having been at my limit, I had told her in a very soft voice to please close her mouth and not open it again. She had pressed her lips together and not said another word, but my scalp still hurt from her yanks as she put my brown curls into my usual topknot.

There were no darts in it; Kavenlow had ransacked my room while I was bathing and removed every drop of toxin, even the small vial I had thought he hadn't known about tucked in the hole within the foot of my bedpost. It had left an aching hurt, as if he mistrusted me. In silent protest, I had fastened my second-best bullwhip around my waist—disguised under a filmy scarf of silk—and tucked my throwing knives away in various places. But I didn't need them. I could kill anyone but Jeck with a touch.

My gaze dropped to my hands, seeing them trembling slightly. They looked no different—browner and thinner than they used to be, the nails trimmed to nothing from Heather's trying to even them out—but they could kill a man more surely than darts. My stomach clenched, and I pushed my plate away to set my napkin aside.

Kavenlow met my eyes across the narrow table, his brow raised and his fork paused halfway to his mouth as he continued to talk to Jeck. Sighing, I replaced my napkin on my lap and pulled my plate closer, pretending to eat so he could properly finish his meal. Normally we didn't adhere to political niceties when in a setting as informal as this, but Jeck was here, and apparently Kavenlow wanted to follow the royal axiom that everyone is done when the ranking royal is. I didn't question why. Kavenlow had his own reasons for everything he did. It might be as simple as him wanting to force a few more bites down my throat, but I was betting it was to remind Jeck I was the ranking person here. Me, the useless apprentice.

The masculine murmurs of talk between bites of food had slowly calmed the voice of the wind in my ear until its buzzing and chortling vanished. Basking in the blessed silence, I closed my eyes and put my elbows on the table, ignoring Kavenlow's harrumph to remove them. My fork was dangling from my fingers so he could eat if he wanted. It didn't seem right to be dining on honey-soaked veal when my sister was choking down cold biscuits and muddy water.

Captain Rylan and Mr. Smitty had left long before sunset, the former confident and mistaken, the latter frightened and wise. With me safe and Jeck available to help effect a rescue, Kavenlow had agreed to pay the ransom. I think he was planning to use the carrot of money to get closer to them. The pirates would be stupid to not suspect something, and though overconfident, Captain Rylan wasn't stupid.

The two pirates had left hours ago amid a bristle of guards, escorted back to their ship where they were now under the watch of young sentries, men too old to fish, and sly, clever street women well versed in using their wits and their powers of observation. We were just waiting now to hear when and where to take the ransom.

A sigh shifted my shoulders, and I jumped when my fork slipped from my fingers and clattered onto my plate. “Sorry,” I said, frowning when Jeck and Kavenlow continued their conversation unabated. My frown deepened when I realized their talk had turned to me.

Jeck pointed a fork at Kavenlow, looking comfortable and relaxed in his clean Misdev uniform as he sat across from my teacher with his hair washed, styled, and smelling of cedar. “You can't even begin to speculate on her possible higher tolerance,” Jeck said as if I weren't in the room. “It would be a great disservice to discount the possibility that it's lower than you think. She was performing high-venom manipulations shortly after being bitten. The prophetic dreams alone used a great deal of toxin and would have washed much of the poison from her body immediately, giving her an apparent lower dose. And I can't begin to guess how much venom was pulled from her to join our thoughts so closely that she was able to point the direction the pirates had taken them by shifting my arm.”

Kavenlow hesitated, my gut tightening at the alarm in his eyes when he leaned over his plate to Jeck. “Possession?” he stammered. “As can be done with animals? She—”

“No,” Jeck interrupted, and the knot of tension eased in me. Jeck took off his feathered hat, setting it down beside his wineglass, his fingers resting on the rim of black felt. “Her thoughts slipped into mine for an instant,” he said carefully, his eyes flicking from Kavenlow to me and back again. “I allowed her to move my arm. It wasn't possession. I was always in control. I'm sure it was due to the high levels of free venom in her at the time.”

I returned to the memory of our thoughts mingling when the pirates had taken the
Sandpiper.
The slight tightening of Jeck's brow told me to keep quiet about it. It hadn't been possession, either, but the fear Kavenlow had shown at even the suggestion kept my mouth shut.

The tip of my teacher's fork touched his plate. He was watching me, and I wondered if he had seen Jeck's silent admonishment for me to be silent and my acceptance to take direction from him: a rival player, not my master, a man who would play upon my fears for his own gain. I was so foolish.

“I've never heard of that possibility, even with the oldest players,” Kavenlow said, and I tried to hide my guilt.

Seeing me quiet in indecision, Jeck turned away and frowned. “The point is that she used so much venom so quickly after being bitten that she may have brought her levels down to a reasonable limit, even if they are replacing themselves. You don't know unless you run a few trials. It would be remiss to waste the opportunity to explore what she can manage, to ignore the possibility to see what she is capable of, or to see what the retired players can do that they don't tell us. But to remove her from the game entirely?” He pointed his fork at me though his avarice-filled eyes never left Kavenlow's. “That is the move of a timid, foolish man.”

My eyes went to Kavenlow at the insult. His suntanned brow furrowed, the only show of his anger. “I will not risk Tess's life to find out what she can do,” he said tightly. “She's a person, not a dog or a horse. She's out of the game.” His blue eyes finally met mine, full of a pity that made me nervous. “Temporarily, Tess. Your residual levels will fall. I don't understand why they haven't started to drop already.”

Jeck set his table knife down with an excessive amount of force. “I told you why. It's fixed in her tissues and replenishing itself. Ignoring a fact because you don't like it is going to get her killed.”

“And speaking to me like that at my dinner table is going to get you incarcerated,” Kavenlow shot back, a lifetime of protocol keeping his voice soft and him unmoving in his chair, though his brow was tight with anger. “No player can renew venom.”

Sighing in exasperation, Jeck settled back in his chair. “A punta can. I didn't know fixing the venom in her tissues to slow down its release into her body would result in it finding a suitable home and allow it to reproduce itself. But if a punta can do it, why can't a person?”

My gaze went between them, Jeck's horrible certainty starting to frighten me. Kavenlow didn't want to accept it—didn't want to believe—but I knew Jeck was right. My levels wouldn't be dropping. Ever.

“I am sorry,” Jeck said, his apologetic tone making me miserable. “I didn't know this would happen. She was bitten, and I tried to save her life. To make her unusable was not my intention. That you yourself don't believe it possible is my only defense.”

Kavenlow's fingers on his glass were deceptively loose, and I knew from his distant expression that he was starting to believe. “We will proceed carefully until we know more,” he said, not looking at me, for which I was grateful. “Tess will have no toxin, and she will not use her magic, allowing her residual levels to drop.”

The taste of honey in my mouth grew flat. From the corner of my sight, I watched Jeck pull himself forward. “They aren't going to drop,” he insisted. “And if she were my apprentice, I would find out what her tolerances are. Immediately. And go from there with the appropriate precautions.”

Kavenlow speared a carefully cut square of meat, equal on all sides. “She was bitten by a punta. She isn't tasting venom or performing any magic for at least six months. If careful testing at that time puts her threshold higher than I like, I'll not risk her further. I don't care if she can manage master-level manipulations or not. I'll not balance her life against the single dart of a rival player. And her levels will drop if she shuns all toxin and magic. They always do.”

My throat closed, and I alternated my gaze between the two of them. I knew more certainly than the sun would rise tomorrow that Jeck was right, but I couldn't bring myself to say it, and I could feel Jeck looking at me, biting his tongue to keep from demanding I do just that.

“She has been doing incredible twists of magic safely since we got off that island,” Jeck said instead, and my face burned at my cowardice. “Did she tell you she manipulated the people at the gate into a calm state after they recognized her and knew something had happened to the queen? The entire crowd?”

“She's been doing that since she was fourteen,” Kavenlow said gruffly, not looking up from his plate as he pushed his food around.

“And the rays,” he offered, an eager intentness in him I didn't understand. “She charmed them into following us, even up onto the beach. Even now, the harbor is full of them. It's because of her.”

Fearful, I glanced at Kavenlow, but he shrugged. “Her ability to manipulate animals has always been high. It's one of her better skills. I'm not surprised that's happening if her residual venom levels are elevated.” Kavenlow sighed, his brown eyes tired as he turned to Jeck. “I'm not arguing that her levels are high and she's doing incredible things. But I will not risk her life on a game, Captain Jeck.”

“Risk is part of the game,” he said, and tension filled me.

“Of course it is.” Kavenlow's voice was hard, and I forced my jaw to unclench. “But hers is not an acceptable risk anymore; it's an extraordinary one.”

“And so are her abilities.” Jeck pressed his lips together. “Sir. Reconsider.”

Kavenlow laced his fingers together and leaned over his plate. “Why do you care? She is
my
student. Not yours.”

I didn't move, afraid they might remember I was here and make me leave.

Jeck hesitated, taking a slow, steadying breath. “Sir,” he said softly, as if loath to say his next words. “She is able to regulate the amount of killing force through her hands, to give a nonlethal dose if she chooses. Even I cannot do that. If you insist on dismissing her out of hand—”

“I am not dismissing Tess out of hand,” Kavenlow snapped, his fist beside his plate going white-knuckled. “If her punta bite endangers her life beyond the normal risk, she will not be a player!”