The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (27 page)

“And your first mate? Does he give his word, too?” Karel turned to the man, let him see the throwing star he held between finger and thumb. “After I so generously spared his life?”

The first mate flinched back against the wall. His face was no longer ruddy, but bloodlessly pale. “My word of honor.” Pain hissed between his teeth with each word.

“Very well.” Karel stowed the throwing star beneath his cloak and untied the pouch of money. “Twenty gold pieces.” His voice was bland, as if nothing untoward had happened. “You shall receive the rest when I’m paid for my contract in Lundegaard.”

B
RITTA TUCKED THE
sleeping boys into bed and went to stand at the window, staring out at the wharf and the town.

Why wasn’t the ship moving?

Rain pattered against the tiny glass panes. She opened the window, straining to hear any sounds from shore. What time was it? Not even halfway to midnight, surely? Jaegar would still be feasting. She pictured him as he’d been that morning, dressed in gold cloth, a row of fading blisters beneath his right eye. He’d worn a prince’s crown woven into his hair, but now he’d have their father’s crown on his head.

Yasma joined her.

“Why isn’t the ship moving?” Britta asked. “If the bells start ringing before we’re out of the harbor, they might still catch us!”

“Do you think Karel’s having trouble? He did say he didn’t trust—”

A
clunk
echoed through the hull.

They looked at each other. “Is that the anchor?” Britta said.

Yasma ran across to the door and laid her ear to the panels. “I think they’re raising the sails.”

The ship stirred slightly.

Britta’s heart seemed to be beating in her throat. “We’re moving,” she whispered. “We’re moving!”

The
Sea Eagle
was sluggish at first, slowly picking up speed as it crossed the harbor. The lights of the town grew faint. The ship passed between the arms of the breakwater, between the burning pyres. Britta thought she heard the wild pealing of bells across the water. Had their escape been discovered?

The ship swung south and seemed to leap forward. Nothing could catch them now.

A knock sounded on the door. “Open up, it’s Eliam.”

Yasma slid the bar back.

Karel entered, carrying a bucket. “Sea water,” he said. “To wash the dung off.”

Yasma slid the crossbar back into place. “Is everything all right?”

“It is now. How are the boys?” He crossed to the bed, bent over the children. “They look well.”

“They are.” Britta closed the window and stepped over the two pallets on the floor. “What do you mean by, ‘it is now’?”

Karel grimaced. “They tried to jump me. I had to kill two of them.”

Britta halted, shocked by his words. “You
what?
”

His face became expressionless. Had he heard her question as an accusation? “Four against one. I had to kill some of them. A Fithian would have.”

Four against one? And he’d survived?

“Karel...” Yasma crossed to him, took his hand. “Are you all right?”

“They didn’t harm me.”

That wasn’t quite what she meant.

Britta looked at him. He’d just killed two men. How could he stand there so calmly?

But he wasn’t completely calm. There was tightness around his eyes, around his mouth.

Her armsman. Who’d killed for her. “Thank you, Karel.”

Something seemed to relax in Karel’s face. He nodded and looked back at the boys. “When they wake, we must stop them crying. I’d like to disembark without the crew ever knowing there were children on board.”

Britta crossed to the bed. “We’ll keep the lamps burning. If they see me, hopefully they won’t cry.”

Karel glanced around the cabin, his gaze lighting on the rucksack and bladders. “I put the fear of death into the captain, but we should still take care, eat only our own food, drink only our own cider. I’ll divide the food into six days’ worth—although, with luck, we’ll reach Lundegaard sooner. We’ve a good wind behind us.”

“I’ll do it now,” Yasma said, releasing his hand.

“Highness, sleep in the bed with them,” Karel told Britta. “They’ll feel safer.”

She nodded, bracing herself against the swaying of the ship.

Karel dragged a pallet over to the door. “I’ll sleep here. Yasma, where would you like me to put yours? In the corner?”

Yasma, kneeling by the rucksack, didn’t answer. Britta glanced at her.

“Yasma, are you all right?” Karel asked sharply.

Yasma pushed to her feet, ran to the open closet, and vomited into one of the chamberpots.

Britta hurried over to her. “Yasma?”

She heard Karel’s boots cross the floor behind her, heard the sound of fabric ripping. “Here,” he said.

She looked back. He held out the bucket of sea water and a strip torn off her palace robe.

Britta gave Yasma water to rinse her mouth with and cleaned her face with a wet cloth. “Into bed with you.”

Karel had made up the pallet. He tucked Yasma in.

Yasma was shivering, her skin clammy. “I was ill all the way from Esfaban,” she whispered. “I thought it was because I was upset at leaving home.”

“I think not.” Karel wiped strands of hair back from Yasma’s brow.

“You were like this the whole way from Esfaban?” Britta said, worried.

“They gave me poppy syrup. I slept, mostly.” Yasma closed her eyes.

Britta glanced at Karel, asking a silent question.

He nodded.

Britta measured some syrup out, mixed it with cider, and gave it to Yasma.

“How much is left?” Karel asked in a low voice.

“Less than half.”

Britta threw the contents of the chamberpot out the window, rinsed it out, put it back in the closet, but the sour smell of vomit still lingered in the cabin. She crouched beside Yasma’s pallet. “Is she asleep yet?”

Karel nodded. He pulled the blankets higher around Yasma and stood. “We need to save some syrup for when we reach Lundegaard. Pray to the All-Mother the boys aren’t badly seasick too.”

“Can we give Yasma All-Mother’s Breath?”

“We may have to. You’re all right? Not feeling ill?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s eat. And then you should sleep. One or other of us should always be awake.”

They ate sitting on the floor. The food was plainer and more delicious than any Britta had eaten in her life—dried sausages tasting of smoke, salty cheese, coarse hardbread, sweet cider. She hugged her knees after she’d finished. The cabin was cozy, the lamps glowing, Yasma and the boys sleeping peacefully.
Have I ever been this happy before?

“I heard alarm bells ringing as we passed through the breakwater,” Karel said.

“I heard them too. Jaegar knows I’m gone.” But Britta was no longer afraid. “He can’t catch us now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

H
ARKELD BURNED STICKS
as Justen tossed them in the air. The precision and concentration required came easily. He eyed the final stick, smoldering in the mud where it had fallen. He couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—take pride in his magic, but surely he could take pride in his skill at controlling it?

“Tomorrow we’ll reach Lvotnic,” Cora said, rain dripping from her hood. “Once we’re across the river, I’ll start you burning arrows out of the air.”

H
E WENT LOOKING
for Innis in the palace gardens and found her back at their campsite, sitting on a tree stump, observing his fire lesson. She looked up as he approached, boots squelching through the mud.

“What are you doing here?”

“Watching you.”

Harkeld glanced at himself and away again. “Innis, can we please go to the gardens? I hate it here.” He was surrounded by mud and rain and tree stumps all day. Why would he want to spend time here in his dreams?

“Watch yourself. You’re good.”

Harkeld shrugged this compliment aside. “Cora’s a good teacher.”

“Watch yourself,” Innis said again.

“I don’t want to.”

Innis sighed. She stood. “All right. Where do you want to go?”

He took her back to the water lily pond, to sunshine and soft grass and the hum of dragonflies. There, he devoted his attention to making love to her. Afterwards, they lay on the grass, arms around each other. He sank towards sleep, relaxed, happy.

“Harkeld? Have you considered becoming a Sentinel?

His descent into slumber stopped abruptly. His eyelids snapped open. “What?”

Innis sat up. Her hand was on his chest. “Don’t get angry. I know how you feel about magic, but
think
about it. Once the curse is broken, why not become a Sentinel? Your magic is more than strong enough.”

The touch of her hand brought with it familiar warm contentment, but her words—

“Because I’d rather die.” He pushed up to sit.

“Why? Being a Sentinel is a
good
thing.”

“I don’t want to be a witch.”

Innis looked at him for a long moment, her eyebrows drawn slightly together. “What was it you liked about being a prince? The power? The status? The luxury?”

The words stung. “None of those things!”

“Then what?” Innis took his hand. “I’m not trying to make you angry, Harkeld. I’m trying to understand why being a prince was important to you.”

His anger eased slightly. He tried to organize his thoughts. Where should he start?

How about at the beginning?

“I was twelve when I was fostered to Lundegaard, to King Magnas’s court. At first all I saw was how plain it was. I wanted to go home, I wanted golden roof tiles and golden tapestries and golden bathtubs.” He pulled a face.
What a spoiled, obnoxious brat I was
. “King Magnas was patient with me. Remarkably patient. And after a while I began to notice how Lundegaard
felt
, not how it looked. It was like someone had handed me a new pair of eyes. I saw... I saw how I want Osgaard to be. People weren’t afraid.” That had been the biggest difference: the lack of fear. No bondservants cringing in the corridors, no nervous courtiers eager to flatter him. Fear was something he’d inhaled with each breath in the palace—invisible, odorless, pervasive—and he’d never noticed it until Lundegaard.

“King Magnas rules his kingdom for his people, not for himself. He’s wise and just and fair. My father...” Harkeld grimaced. “Father rules by fear, and Jaegar will too, after him. When I went back to Osgaard—” His laugh was flat. The fear had no longer been invisible and odorless. He’d choked on it each time he’d drawn breath, had seen it in people’s eyes, on their faces.

“I decided that if I got the chance to rule, I was going to change Osgaard.” It sounded pompous, said aloud. He glanced at Innis. Was she laughing at him? No. “I’d stop bondservice. I’d give back the kingdoms we’d conquered. I’d stop taxing so heavily. Peasants in Osgaard starve to death, you know. They shouldn’t. Our land is fertile. If my father stopped increasing the taxes, stopped putting golden tiles on the palace roof—” The familiar, futile rage was building in his chest. He blew out a breath, tried to expel his anger. “
That’s
why being a prince was important to me. Because I wanted to rebuild Osgaard.”

How arrogant it sounded. Who was he to think he could make Osgaard a better kingdom? But
somebody
had to.

“I could expect to outlive my father. Whether I outlived Jaegar or not—” He shrugged. “Chances are Jaegar will sire heirs before he dies. The probability of me ever becoming king was slight.” But if he
had
inherited the throne, he would have tried to be like King Magnas. A king who ruled for his people, not for himself.

Of course, that would never happen now. Even if the traitor’s bounty on his head was rescinded, he could never return to Osgaard.
I’d be lynched for my witch blood
.