The Black King (Book 7) (24 page)

Better than he was doing.

He had spent the first day reviewing all the instructions he had received. The last disturbed him the most. Coulter had pulled Matt aside just before he left and had given him an instruction he wasn’t supposed to reveal to anyone.
We need to stay in touch. I will keep my Link open to you. If you need me, just shout.

Matt had nodded. Coulter had explained Links before. Matt had never used his, but he understood what to do. He also understood why Coulter wanted him to keep this quiet. Arianna wanted the Links between Coulter and Matt closed so that Rugad couldn’t travel across them. Coulter had said he agreed. It was only at the last moment that Coulter seemed to change his mind.

But reviewing plans wasn’t helping today, and the Words Matt had absorbed offered no comfort.
Even a farsighted man,
the Roca had written,
cannot see the future well enough to make an informed choice.

Matt shook his head. He now knew Old Islander well enough to speak it like a native. On the first day of his ride, he had gone through the front section of the Words, trying to understand them. Then he’d had the nightmares, dreams of betrayal and of locking beloved old friends in Soul Repositories, and on the next day, he had tried instead to focus on his surroundings.

But the Words still haunted him. Sometimes he thought he could see shadows of ancient armies, fighting the battles that the Words had caused. Sometimes he felt a hopelessness that was not his own.

He wished that Scavenger were with him so that he could ask about the Fey Mysteries and Powers. Sometimes Matt felt as if he had picked one up on the Roca’s Cave, and it hovered around him, sharing its emotions and its memories. But he couldn’t see it, and he wondered if his loneliness caused the feeling.

Something crashed behind him, and the horse shied. Matt fell forward, grabbing the horse’s neck and it whinnied in distress. It didn’t shake him off, though, and it didn’t run in panic, although it did increase its stride enough to hurt his balance.

They were already around a corner by the time Matt was able to look behind him. He thought he saw another horse. He reined his up, and dismounted, heart pounding.

He reached into one of his pouches and removed an apple for the horse. It deserved a treat for not throwing him when it shied. He patted its neck and spoke softly to it, all the while looking back along the trail.

The horse was calming, its tail twitching as it ate. The river gurgled below, flowing over some large rocks. The water was white and frothy, and looked nothing like the blood red water he knew from home. Thin grass and a twisted pine tree grew on the hill behind him. He leaned against a dirt crack in the hillside and was as quiet as possible, but he heard nothing more than his heart, the horse, and the river.

Maybe he should walk back and see if someone was waiting just around the corner. But that was silly. A rock had probably dislodged—there were fallen rocks all over this trail—and that was what had spooked the horse.

If there had been someone else on the trail, he would have passed by now. Besides, why would anyone hide from him? Only a handful of people knew where he was going. Rugad had no idea Matt was coming. And Alex wouldn’t leave the Vault.

Matt sipped some water from one of the skins that Seger had prepared. She had asked the Domestics to make him a number of provisions. Even if it took him extra days to get to Jahn, he wouldn’t go thirsty. The water replenished itself, and would for a week. He would be hungry though. Food didn’t replenish itself, and if he took too long to reach Jahn, he would have to rely on people he met for food and companionship.

He took a deep breath and then mounted the horse. He still had a long trip ahead of him.

The best thing he could do was stop making up problems, and focus on the trials ahead.

SEVENTEEN

GIFT’S SHIP looked out of place in Jahn harbor. Even though its sails were down, the masts were taller than any others. It was longer, too, and sat deeper in the water. It probably held more people than the average Nyeian ship.

Lyndred stood at the end of the gangplank and squared her shoulders. She didn’t see any guards on deck and she thought that odd. Still, she was nervous about going on board. The look her cousin Gift had given her in the North Tower had been cold and dismissive. She wasn’t sure she could trust him.

She wiped her hands on her breeches, then started up the wooden ramp. A rope handhold had been woven on one side to help her keep her balance.

Lyndred hadn’t expected Gift to leave. She had thought that Arianna would find him a place in the palace and he would join them for meals. Lyndred would be able to watch him, to see what kind of person he really was, to see if he were trustworthy, and then she would be able to go to him if she had to. But the servants were already talking about the way Gift had left, his face dark with anger. Arianna had said that he would never come back.

Lyndred hadn’t expected such bad blood between them. It made her nervous. It reminded her of the dreams she had had, and the way she had thought she saw the Cardidas covered in blood.

When she reached the deck, a Nyeian sailor barred her way. He was slight and had the delicate features of most Nyeians. He reminded her of Rupert and she wondered what she had ever seen in that kind of man.

“I’m here to see Gift,” she said.

“He sees no one.”

“I’m his cousin, Lyndred.”

“Sorry.”

She was gripping the rope so hard that it burned against her palm. If he were Fey, she could order him aside. Perhaps that was the beauty of a Nyeian guard. Even though he had more to be frightened of than a Fey, he was too stupid to know it.

“At least tell him that I’m here.”

“Why is that, Lyndred?”

She turned in the direction of the voice. Ace stood just to her right, half hidden by thick ropes. He was wearing a loose Nyeian shirt, drawn at the wrists and open at the throat, and tight Nyeian pants. The white shirt accented the darkness of his skin and hair.

“It’s important that I see him.”

“Important to you, to him, or the Black Queen?”

“I asked you to tell him I wanted to see him.”

“I did tell him. He obviously chose not to see you.”

Lyndred could order Ace, but she wasn’t going to. “Please. I’ll stay right here. I won’t even get on his precious ship. Just let me see him for a few moments.”

Ace’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose it’s not my decision.” He pointed at the Nyeian. “Don’t let her move until I get back.”

“Aye, sir,” the Nyeian said.

Ace disappeared.

Lyndred swallowed against a dry throat. Her dream brought her here, more than anything. She knew when she saw Gift that he had been the man in that dream. There was something about him that reassured her, just like there was something about Arianna that frightened her. The fact that he didn’t want to see her seemed to confirm the emotions of the dream. It felt right that Lyndred had to seek him out. It felt like the way things ought to be.

Ace reappeared at the railing. He didn’t look at her. “Let her by,” he said to the Nyeian.

The Nyeian moved aside. Lyndred walked the last few feet up the ramp and stepped onto the ship.

She hadn’t been on a ship since she had arrived in Jahn. The bob and sway of the deck even on the Cardidas’s relatively calm waters brought back the trip she had made across the Infrin Sea.

Ace took her arm. “Try anything, and I’ll be the first to slit your throat.”

She smiled at him. “Nice to see you too, Ace.”

He led her belowdecks. There were doors leading off the narrow corridor, and the familiar scents of sweat, sea salt, and fish. At the end of the corridor was a large door. Ace opened it and pushed Lyndred inside. She almost lost her footing and reached for him, but he escaped her grasp. He went back out the door and closed it behind him.

The Fey woman she had seen with Gift leaned against a cabinet built into a wall. She had changed into a jerkin and breeches—the same outfit that Lyndred wore—and she no longer looked quite as foreign. She was, quite possibly, the most beautiful woman Lyndred had ever seen.

The Shaman stood to one side, her black eyes taking in everything. She had her hands threaded before her as if she were trying to maintain a calmness she didn’t feel. Despite her white hair and lined face, this Shaman struck Lyndred as young. Perhaps it was the expression on her face or the way that she faded into the background as if she weren’t sure she belonged.

Gift stood near a porthole. He had his back to Lyndred and didn’t turn even after Ace had shut the door.

Lyndred took a step into the cabin. It was larger than any she had seen before. It was in the front part of the ship, and its ceiling was low. A wide bunk, cabinets and a desk were built into the walls. Two portholes showed views of the harbor; one that Gift stood in front of, and one that was on the opposite wall. There were also free standing chairs that could be stacked and stored and a table that someone had placed there as a secondary workspace.

Lyndred bit her lower lip, then realized what she was doing. She walked deeper into the cabin. She wasn’t quite sure how to open the conversation without apologizing, and she didn’t want to start that way.

Then Gift turned. His blue eyes were flat but they weren’t cold, not like Arianna’s. It seemed instead as if some of the life had left them. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Are you here to corrupt me the way you corrupted my sister?”

Lyndred took an involuntary breath. He blamed her for Arianna’s reactions? “I haven’t corrupted anyone.”

“Really.” Gift stood up and walked toward her. Neither the woman nor the Shaman moved. “Ace tells me I can’t trust you.”

Lyndred’s heart twisted. She cared about Ace, and she wasn’t sure what she had done to earn his distrust.

“Well,” Lyndred said. “I’m going to trust you.”

Gift stopped directly in front of her. He was as tall as she was and had a muscular thinness that spoke of great strength. “Should I feel honored?”

There was anger beneath his coldness. Lyndred could sense it more than hear it. She remembered the dream, the way he kept pushing away from her, and the way she held his shoulder, making sure he stayed. Perhaps that dream wasn’t prophecy. Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it told her how to speak to Gift.

“I’ve been here six months,” Lyndred said. “Your sister’s been the same the whole time.”

“Now you’re defending her?”

“Defending myself, actually. My father and I—she tried to kick us out of the palace when we first arrived.”

The woman turned toward Gift. The Shaman didn’t move. And something—interest?—flickered in Gift’s eyes.

“But then my father told her who I was, and what my magick was.”

“Vision,” the Shaman said softly.

Lyndred nodded, not taking her gaze from Gift. “It’s not as great as yours, but it’s there. And it’s strong. Stronger than it’s been in my father’s branch of the family. Like your mother’s, my father said.”

“He’s guessing. My mother came into her Vision on Blue Isle.”

Lyndred wanted to reach out and take Gift’s hand. “When Arianna found out I had Vision, she offered to let my father and I stay at the palace. And every day, she has asked me to tell her what I’ve Seen.”

“You have daily Visions?” the woman asked. She had an accent that Lyndred didn’t recognize.

This time, Lyndred faced her. “I’m sorry. We haven’t met.”

The woman glanced at Gift as she answered. “I’m Skya. Gift’s woman.”

The words had a nasty twist, as if she didn’t like saying them.

“She’s my guide,” Gift said. “She got me out of Vion safely and back here. She’s—”

“Banished, just like he is.” Skya’s tone was so bitter that Lyndred almost recoiled.

“Arianna banished you?” Lyndred asked.

Gift shrugged. The movement seemed casual, but wasn’t. His skin, lighter than her own, was slightly flushed, his eyes bright with anger. “Apparently, she thinks I will try to take the Throne from her, and bring the Blood on us all.”

“The Blood,” Lyndred whispered.

The Shaman took a step forward. “What did you See, my child?”

Lyndred felt her own skin flush. “Blood on the river, yesterday morning.”

Skya gasped, but neither the Shaman nor Gift looked surprised.

“What else?” the Shaman asked.

“Blood everywhere. It was a single, horrible Vision.”

“What caused it?” the Shaman asked.

Lyndred shook her head. Gift made a slight, disgusted sound, and backed away. Lyndred caught his arm. She could feel his muscles through the softness of his shirt. “I know you blame me for what’s going on, but you have to understand how much I’m trusting you. I Saw you kill Arianna in a Vision. I don’t want you to do that.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, pulling his arm free. “It would bring the Blood on us.”

“I know,” Lyndred said.

“Is that why you’re here, to find someone to kill Arianna?”

“Gift.” The Shaman took a step forward. “Let the girl talk. What did you See, child? Tell me your Visions.”

No one had spoken to her with that kind of gentleness in a long time. Lyndred blinked hard so that the tears wouldn’t fall. She took a deep breath and looked only at the Shaman. “I’ve had three major ones, really. All of them about Gift.”

“You’re sure it’s Gift?” the Shaman asked.

Lyndred nodded. “Now I am.”

“What were they?” the Shaman asked.

The other two were staring at Lyndred with an intensity that made her flush. In some ways, these people unnerved her more than Arianna did, but not because she was afraid of them. Because she wanted to impress them.

“There were three quick Visions,” Lyndred said. “One’s already come to pass. I saw him enter the palace with a group, like he was invading the place.”

“This morning,” Skya said softly.

“Then I saw Arianna crumbling.”

“Crumbling?” the Shaman asked.