“What about the purplish people?” Evan asked, pointing at the crew on the Siren’s decks. “Are they mages, too?”
Brody looked at him like he was sun-touched. “What purplish people?”
“The ones that—”
“Shhh,” Brody said. “I want to hear this.”
“And now, here you are, a woman grown,” the captain was saying. “If I’d known it was you, I’d have tapped my best barrel and welcomed you properly.” The stiffness in the captain’s posture, and the tension in his face and shoulders, told a different story.
Celly wasn’t fooled. “If you’d known it was me,” she said, “you would have found a hole to hide in.”
Strangward chose not to respond to that. Instead, he shaded his eyes and scanned the Siren’s decks. “Isn’t Iona with you?”
“My mother is dead.”
This news seemed to knock Captain Strangward back on his heels. Again, he took a quick look over his shoulder, scanning the deck; then he turned back to Celly. “I am so sorry to hear that. When did this happen?”
“A year ago.”
Strangward went ashen under his sun weathering. “I wish I’d known. I would have liked to pay my respects and—”
“Telling you was the last thing on my mind,” Celestine snapped, “though I’m sure you’d have liked more warning. After Mother died, I found the strength to break out of the prison you built for us, only to find that your gutter-swiving stormcaster brother had surrounded the Sisters with a wall of storms.”
Evan knew she must mean the Weeping Sisters, three small islands, in the Northern Islands chain, that spewed steam and flame and hot-spring water the year round. He’d never gone there—nobody did, these days. They were always shrouded in cloud and battered by wind and wave.
“Celly, you can’t assume that—”
“I can assume whatever the hell I want! I’m empress now. My mother was too weak to rule the coast, but I am not. Harol stole what belonged to me, and trapped my mother and me on the Sisters with his stormlord magic.”
“Your mother wasn’t—” Captain Strangward seemed to reconsider finishing that sentence. “It wasn’t like that,” he said.
“My mother loved me!” Celestine cried, blotting at her eyes with her gauntleted forearms. “But your thrice-damned brother turned her against me after Jak died.”
“Your mother loved you,” Strangward conceded. “I’ll not deny that.”
By now, Evan and Brody were getting fidgety, despite the drama going on before their eyes. They’d walked into the middle of it, after all, they didn’t know any of the characters, and it seemed to have very little to do with them.
“Five years you’ve prowled the Indio at will,” Celestine said, “naming yourself the lord of the ocean and building an empire at my expense. Now everything changes.”
“The only way to make a name is to earn it,” Strangward said.
“As I intend to do,” she said. She leaned forward, her grip tightening on the rail. “Only a fool gets in my way,” Celestine said. Reaching into her carry bag, she pulled something out and held it up.
It glittered in the sunlight—a small object dangling from a chain. Evan’s heart spasmed, leaving him breathless. It matched the broken pendant he’d worn since a time before memory. He pressed his hand against his shirt, relieved to feel the jagged shape through the linen. More than anything, it resembled the broken innards of a clock, but it had always been his most precious possession. His only possession from a past shrouded in mystery.
Evan’s skin prickled, and his magemark burned as he realized that he himself was tangled up in this sailor’s knot of secrets. Maybe this girl was the key to untangling it.
Clearly Strangward recognized the pendant, too. “Where did you get that?” he said, as if he didn’t really want to hear the answer.
“Claire gave it to me,” Celestine said. She gave it a shake, setting it to swinging. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s another piece of that medallion Jak used to wear.”
Who were Claire and Jak? Missing pieces of the puzzle that had been his life so far? Hope kindled within Evan that he was not just a castaway orphan but a part of something powerful and grand. Someone with a history and a future.
Strangward closed his eyes, swallowed. “Claire,” he whispered. “You found Claire.”
“Get off your high horse, Uncle,” Celestine said, her voice sending shivers up Evan’s spine. “They’re mine. They are a part of the Nazari line. They were created for a purpose, and it’s time they served. Harol should have been straight with my mother from the beginning.”
“How do you know he wasn’t?” Strangward said. “They were in love, Celly.”
“Love? Is that what you call it?” Her jaw tightened. “I don’t care how charming he was, she would not have traded away my legacy.” Celestine rested her forearms on the ship’s railing.
“Harol tried to save you, too,” Strangward said.
“You call that salvation? It was more like hell, Uncle.” Celestine brushed at her clothing. “I will never wash the scent of sulfur and smoke from my skin. No, it was my mother who saved me. She loved me.”
She already said that, Evan thought, and Captain Strangward said it. Who is she trying to convince?
“If you meant to start a war with me, you should have destroyed them all when you had the chance,” Celestine said. “Now. Where are the rest of them?”
“I have my faults, Celly,” Strangward said softly, as if confessing in the temple, “but at least I don’t make war on children.”
That seemed to infuriate the young empress. “A war your brother forced on me! It didn’t have to be that way! It has never been that way.” Raising her hand, she pointed at the mainmast. As Evan watched, wide-eyed, flame jetted from her fingers and engulfed it. A fine white ash settled onto the deck, powdering Evan’s hair and clothing. Bits of flaming wood dropped onto the quarterdeck, leaving scorched spots on the planking.
Captain Strangward stared up at the blazing mast as if stunned. All around them, the crew of Cloud Spirit muttered mingled oaths and prayers.
Celly laughed. “Behold Claire’s other gift to me.”
“Whatever you think I’ve done, I didn’t,” Strangward said, sounding tired more than anything else. “Whatever you think I know, you’re wrong. I told Harol that he was playing with fire, but he wouldn’t listen. He was madly in love with Iona, and she with him. Now. I’ve been at sea for weeks and I’m going home.” He went to turn away from the rail.
“Let me save you a trip,” Celestine said, her voice like a cutlass. “There’s nothing left of Tarvos. I’ve burned out that nest of vermin and driven your crew of wharf rats into the sea.”
Tarvos is gone? Evan’s gut clenched as images swam through his head. There was the small room in Strangward’s compound where Evan stayed while in port. It held nothing more than a rope bed and a trunk with his belongings, but it was his. It looked out onto the courtyard, so he could hear the splashing fountain from his bed. The deep-blue harbor surrounded by sand-colored cliffs. The weekend markets filled with fish and bright rugs and candies made with piñon. Plenty to eat, every day.
Tarvos had given him a name and a safe harbor when he’d needed one—and now it was gone.
2
STORMCASTER
Strangward stared at Celestine for a long moment, then said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You should have left well enough alone,” the empress said. “Better men, and more powerful mages, have accepted the cards dealt to them with a lot more grace. You call yourself a stormlord, but your dead brother was the one with the talent.” She straightened, resting her hands on the rail. “Surrender, Strangward, and I’ll let your crew be. They can continue on with Cloud Spirit. I’ll simply send over a new captain.”
With that, someone emerged from the shadow of the wheelhouse and came up to stand next to the empress. Someone with a familiar swagger and stance. And, behind him, the handful of Cl
oud Spirit crew who’d sailed off with him.
“Tully!” Evan and Brody said in unison, as surprise and dismay rumbled through the deck crew.
Celestine ran her fingers down Tully’s arm. “I told Captain Samara he could have Cloud Spirit if he could arrange this meeting,” she said. “He’s done his part.”
“Lay down your weapons,” Tully called. “There’s no need for bloodshed. Here’s a chance to sign on with the new ruler of the Desert Coast.”
Tully had always been ambitious, but this took ambition to a new level. Evan noticed that he didn’t glow purple like the rest of the empress’s fighters. Like their former shipmates now did.
Brody noticed, too. “So you sold us out for a ship, did you?” he shouted. “Maybe we don’t want to be blood slaves.”
The crew grumbled agreement. Not one of them laid down his weapon. Tully flushed with embarrassment and slid a look at Celestine. So much for showing off in front of your new boss, Evan thought.
Shaking her head as if disappointment was nothing new, the empress gestured to her crew. Grappling hooks arced through the air, trailing lines, and thudded onto the deck.
Despite the numbers, Cloud Spirit’s sailors went at it with a will, manning the rails to drive off the swarms of Celestine’s fighters who were attempting to board. They swung their blades and cut the lines that came snaking between the two ships. Blood spattered the deck as they cut down the pirates who made it as far as the railing. Yet the purple-shrouded crew kept coming, even when seemingly mortally wounded, as if they’d lost their fear of dying.
Nobody was paying attention to Evan, so he pulled a watch cap down over his head, lifted a sword from a dead man, and joined in the fighting.
By the time the ship’s bell sounded the half hour, there were only a handful of Cloud Spirit’s crew left. Strangward still stood exposed on the quarterdeck, chin up, a blade in each hand, cutting down any who came too close. Evan couldn’t help wondering why the empress hadn’t flamed him and put an end to the standoff.
Then it came to him. He’s protecting the ship by standing in the line of fire. He knows that the empress wants to take him alive, that he has information she wants. That’s another reason she hasn’t fired on us. She’s worried she’ll kill him and the information will die with him.
But that protection didn’t extend to everyone, and the empress seemed to be losing patience. Celestine lowered her arm so that she aimed directly at Brody. “I’m weary of this game,” she said. “Now, surrender, or I’ll incinerate what’s left of your crew, one by one, starting with this handsome sailor.”
Brody froze like a rabbit under the eye of a snake.
“No!” Evan shouted, leaping forward so he stood next to Brody, even though his neck burned like fury. “Captain Strangward said to shove off. You’d better do it or your fancy ship’ll be nothing but splinters on the beach.” To his mortification, his voice cracked and trembled.
The empress crowed with laughter. “Who’s this, now, Strangward? Your smallest bodyguard? Someone with a harder spine than you?”
With that, Evan drew his throwing knife and sent it flying. It was a good throw, and it would have hit Siren’s deck, anyway, had it not slammed into the empress’s invisible barrier and gone pinging off into the sea.
Strangward was not amused. “Get below, boy, before I break every bone in your body,” he roared, backhanding him across the face. “Abhayi! Get this whelpling out of my sight.”
Somehow, Evan was back on his feet again, seized with a cold fury. He could feel blood trickling down his chin, his lip swelling, his magemark ablaze. None of it mattered. Raising his curved Carthian blade, he adopted a fighting stance.
The empress stood, head cocked, like a patron watching a disappointing act at the fair. Then sent flame roaring straight at him. Evan lifted both his hands and desperately pushed out, as if he could shove death away.
As it turned out, he could. The torrent of flames slowed, like a ship sailing into a stiff opposing wind. They piled higher and higher, then crested and flooded back toward the Siren, grazing her side and setting her rigging on fire. Her crew stood frozen, gaping, then rushed to quench the flames before they spread.
Celestine stood, eyes wide, seeming more intrigued than frightened. “I’ll be gutter-strummed,” she said. “There’s more to you, boy, than meets the eye.” She looked from Evan to Strangward and back again. “Ah,” she said. “I see it now. I should have known you’d have at least one of the ratlings with you.” She motioned to Evan. “Come here, boy, and let me have a better look at you.”
Evan stood, shaking his head, and the medallion on the back of his neck seethed and burned. He raised his blade again. “You come here, and get a taste of this, witch,” he said.
She laughed. “Magelings should never throw stones at witches.”
The tip of Evan’s blade dropped a little. “Mageling?”
“Didn’t you know? There’s magic in you, boy.”
Evan was so flummoxed that all he could come back with was, “I’m not a boy. You’re not much older than me.”
“That’s true,” she said. “We should be friends, not enemies. What’s your name?”
“Don’t listen to her,” Strangward said. “They don’t call her the Siren for nothing.”
But Celestine stayed focused on Evan. “What’s the matter? Has Captain Strangward been holding out on you? He hasn’t told you his real reasons for bringing you on and keeping you close? He hasn’t told you who you really are?”
All of the questions that had been seething deep inside Evan came boiling to the surface. Such as why he’d been chosen over bigger, stronger street-rats. Why his captain always sent him belowdecks when they encountered another ship. Why he’d never been allowed to join in the fighting.
“At least I’ll tell you the truth,” Celestine said. “You carry Nazari blood—the heartsblood of the empire. You have a magical heritage that goes back centuries. Strangward wants to keep you to himself, but you belong at my side.”
“Maybe he carries your blood, Celly,” Strangward said, “but he’s my blood, too.”
Now it was Evan’s turn to look between his captain and the empress. No. It wasn’t possible. Strangward had plucked him off the streets of Endru, ganging him onto his crew. Evan had gone along, because it was, after all, a bed, and a roof, and food in his belly, with the promise of shares later on.
He’d started out an orphan, and now he had two of his relations fighting over him.
If I’m his blood, why did he never tell me? Did he not want me to make any claim on him? And how, exactly, are we connected?
More importantly, if he had royal blood, and Strangward knew it, why had he kept it secret?
Celly crooked a finger at Evan. “Come here. Let me see how you’re marked.”
Involuntarily, Evan reached for his neckline. Then forced his hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Captain Strangward has lied to you, and betrayed you. Come serve me, and I’ll teach you all about how to use your magic.”
Evan took a tentative step forward, as if pulled by an invisible tether. Then somebody wrapped a muscled arm around him, pinning his arms to his sides, lifting him so his feet barely touched the deck. He felt the bite of a blade at his throat. It had to be Abhayi, but he couldn’t fathom why.
“No!” Celestine said, panic flickering across her face. The empress extended her hands as if she could reach across the water between them.
“Leave off, Celestine,” Strangward said, his voice flat, “or the boy dies.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Celestine said, licking her lips in a way that suggested she thought he just might. “You wouldn’t murder a child.”
“I would, to keep him out of your hands,” Strangward said.
Evan hung there, frozen, thoughts thrashing around in his head. Was Captain Strangward protecting him from Celestine, or was Celestine rescuing him from Strangward? Right
now, he felt like he needed to be rescued from the both of them.
No. He didn’t need rescuing. He needed to rescue himself. He slammed both heels into Abhayi’s knees, hearing a crunch when they connected. Howling, the big man fell forward, his grip loosening enough that Evan was able to roll out of the way before he was pinned underneath. Pushing to his feet, he scooped up Abhayi’s blade and ran forward and up. He swarmed up the sheets onto the foremast, swinging the blade, recklessly slicing lines along the way, climbing higher and higher until he found a stable perch astride the tops’l yard.
“Hold your fire!” the empress shouted at her crew. “If the mageling gets hurt, you’ll answer to me.”
Now everyone was shouting at him—Strangward, Abhayi, the empress. The remains of the crew crowded toward him—all people he knew. Zalazar, who’d shown him the ropes. Entebbe, who’d taught him to swim. Akira, who’d covered for him in the early days, when he thought he’d heave his guts out on his first blue-water crossing. Brody, who’d begun climbing the mast toward him, his face set and grim.
Even Brody.
“Stay back,” Evan warned, thrusting both hands toward them.
They shrank back, raising their arms in defense. Brody stopped climbing and clung there, pressing himself against the mast.
They know, Evan thought. They know part of this story, anyway. They’ve all been keeping secrets. He owed them nothing.
Changing tactics, he took aim at the Siren. He extended both hands, palms out, and made a pushing motion, in the hope that flames might shoot out of his palms. Instead, the Siren shuddered as her mains’l went taut, the masts creaking and complaining as if under the pressure of a violent squall. With the sudden beam reach wind, the vessel heeled over until seawater slopped over the far rail and the empress had to grab hold of a capstan to keep from sliding across the deck and dropping into the ocean.