Tamiath looks down his nose at Rima, as if examining an unusually vocal cockroach.
Rima scowls. “You wished to see me, Your Highness.” A demand.
Face blank, Tam withdraws a thick envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “One million gold crowns have been made available to you through a network of Lyron League bankers,” Tamiath says coolly. “You will only be able to draw the funds from outside Felielle and only two hundred crowns at a time. Attempt to take more or try to access the moneys from within Felielle, and the agreement will terminate.”
Rima reaches for the envelope, but Tam pulls it up out of reach.
“One last thing, Captain Rima,” Tam says softly. “I want you out of my kingdom by day’s end.”
Rima plucks the envelope from Tamiath’s hand, his smile widening as his eyes take in the notes of credit, one after the other, that make up the small fortune Tam has just laid into his hands. It’s over. For now. I let out a breath and turn after Tamiath, who is already heading to the corridor when Rima’s voice chimes behind us.
“Thank you for this gesture of goodwill, my prince,” Rima says easily. “There is one small problem, unfortunately. It appears my shoulder requires greater medical aid than I initially estimated. If you could raise the credit to two million, I would be most appreciative. You will also need to remove this silliness about the funds being unavailable within Felielle. Neither my lady nor I have plans of departing, and it would be the height of inconvenience to have to send riders over kingdom borders simply to withdraw the necessary funds to cover my medical needs.”
Tam stops dead. Inside my veins, blood simmers and agitates my magic. There is no escape, I realize. Never was. Rima never intended to settle. He was simply waiting until we bowed to his initial demand before making the next, and the next. Around me, a preternatural breeze picks up and twirls the dust.
Rima clicks his tongue against his teeth and steps around us, making himself the leading figure in the corridor heading away from the alcove. “Take a breath, Your Highnesses. There is little reason to hang on to frivolity on either side. For ones such as you, the money is insignificant. For me, it’s but funds for medical treatment you have caused me to require.” He bows again and tucks the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I look forward to hearing again from you soon, before the wedding, no doubt. Until then, by your leave.” Without waiting for a reply, Rima strolls away down the corridor.
Storms and hail. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at nothing. He’s won. The bastard won. We gave him what he wanted, twice. And it still failed to ensure Rima’s silence or Domenic’s safety or Aaron’s fate.
“Excuse me.” Domenic’s voice breaks through the crackling silence with a quiet surety that stops my breath. When we turn toward him, Domenic steps forward from the shadowed wall and faces Tamiath. “Your Highnesses…” The title encompasses us both, but it is Tam’s gaze that Domenic finds. “Given the developments of the situation, I would ask you to accept my official declination of the offered letter of pardon. As is my right, I will be going forward with a public trial.”
I blink, my mind processing the words. “What the hell are you talking about?” I say finally. “We’ve quite enough problems as it is, if you’ve failed to notice.”
Tam nods in agreement with me, though with more composure. “You committed mutiny, Mr. Dana,” he says bluntly. “There is but one way such a trial can end—and that is with a hangman’s noose. I am unclear as to how it would help the current dilemma.”
The light from the window set high in the ceiling plays in Domenic’s eyes as he studies Tamiath with a calm as preternatural as the wisps of wind still swirling the air. It’s a look I’ve seen on Domenic before—when the Tirik Devron opened its gunports and launched deadly shot at our ship. An armor of confidence and decision.
Tam’s brow flickers as he too notes the change in Domenic’s demeanor.
“I am quite aware of a trial’s likely outcome,” Domenic tells Tamiath with equal bluntness. “I am also aware that avoiding said trial is a material matter in several key decisions being made. So I am taking myself out of this equation. There is quite enough to be weighed without my trial or lack thereof affecting issues of state.”
Blood drains from my face. I open my mouth to speak, but Domenic isn’t finished yet.
“Additionally,” he says, looking exclusively at Tamiath, “a public disclosure of Rima’s true character will do well to cast doubt on the man’s credibility and might prevent him from commanding a future ship to its doom. That in itself is worth my life.”
“Domenic,” I plead, stepping toward him.
“No, Nile.” His voice is calm, his attention on Tamiath even as his words aim toward me. “You are done doing things to protect me as of this moment.” With a sharp motion, Domenic executes a perfect bow and withdraws down the hallway, heading in the same direction Rima had disappeared moments earlier.
I start after him, but Tamiath stops me with his arm. “Let him go,” he says gently. “Mr. Dana will not change his mind.”
I swallow, the truth of Tam’s words ringing in my soul. I won’t change Domenic’s mind. Or Rima’s. Or anyone else’s. My thoughts spiral in a tightening typhoon until something snaps with a mental crack that echoes through my skull. An image from the Aurora, sparked by Domenic’s resolution, materializes in my mind, and an eerie calm settles over me.
I’m done asking, done bending to realities others create with lies. It’s time to make my own truth.
“Let me go, Tamiath,” I say, my voice icy as I remove his arm from my path.
Chapter 40
I locate Aaron in the training yard, his shirt off and his practice blade clobbering an innocent dummy. One look at me has him pulling away midblow and hesitating only long enough to grab his shirt before following me to the closest place where we can speak privately, which happens to be an empty stall in the nearby stable.
As I detail what I need Aaron to do, his face steadily drains of color. By the time I finish, the shirt he’d been using to mop sweat from his brow and shoulders hangs loosely in his calloused hand.
“You are insane,” he informs me finally. “That’s not how the rite is used. You are warping the concept into something unrecognizable.”
“On the contrary, I’m using it exactly as its spirit intends. It’s only unrecognizable because no one has thought to use it this way yet.” I harden my gaze. “The debate is beside the point. I need to know whether or not you can find a priestess agreeable to performing it.”
Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Of course not. If such a person existed—”
“Of course one exists. There is always someone who looks forward, in every field.” I step toward Aaron, forcing him to meet my eyes. My voice is so low, even I can barely make out the words. “You’ve lived your whole life hiding a secret. The only way to do that in a nation that would destroy you for it is by knowing the right people to trust. I need you to tap into that network, Aaron. Now. Tonight. If you will not do it for friendship, consider it a royal command.”
Aaron’s face is hard as he studies me, his green eyes turning a dark shade of emerald in the stable’s dim light. After an eternity of silence, the man bows with a hand over his heart. “For friendship,” he says.
I sigh in relief.
Aaron smiles and pulls on his shirt. “Friendship, and the entertainment of watching Tamiath kill you when he finds out,” he adds before striding off to saddle a horse.
I watch him for a few moments before walking away to locate paper, ink, and a copy of the Felielle legal code.
Aaron is gone within the hour. I wait into the night for his return, only to fall asleep by morning without his arrival. He fails to return the next day as well. And the one after that. My stomach twists itself into knots, but I keep silent under Tamiath’s questioning, though he is on the verge of disemboweling me for information. It is safer if Tam knows nothing just yet. I’m done w
ith endangering others.
On the third night of Aaron’s absence, I am lying awake in my bed and staring at the ceiling while the night’s darkness stands sentinel. The clock in my head ticks away seconds to damnation. With my family due to arrive in three days, and the wedding a week after that, there is precious little time to work with.
Bear, curled up shamelessly in my bed, springs suddenly to his feet. A momentary dread passes over me, replaced by fluttering anxiety as I realize the dog is alerting on an approaching visitor, not a looming convulsion. I close my eyes and listen.
Steps indeed approach my chamber, and they aren’t Tam’s, Quinn’s, or Domenic’s. Although the latter is remaining at his post pending the storms-damned trial, he and I have exchanged fewer than three words in as many days. It little matters, though. There will be no trial. Not if Aaron—who I’m certain is the owner of the steps—is back with good news.
The knock at the door has me on my feet in a heartbeat. By the time Aaron enters without waiting for invitation, I’m as awake as if awoken by a battle drum.
“You found a priestess?” I ask, my hand clamping onto the lieutenant’s wrist. “Tell me you found her.”
Aaron nods, his face tense as he lights a lantern. He looks—and smells—like a man who’s spent the past days in the saddle, with exhausted eyes and dirt-streaked clothes. “Yes, I’ve found one who is willing. But Nile—”
“We are going.” I exchange my sleeping chemise for a pair of dark breeches, shirt and a woolen coat. “Get Tam and meet me in the stables.”
“Nile.” Aaron grabs my boots, holding them hostage until I meet his gaze. “We are going nowhere until I know you’ve both heard and understood my words.” He pauses, waiting for my reluctant nod before continuing. “What you are starting is a direct challenge to the tradition of the Felielle throne. Whatever happens publicly, privately King Hallord and Queen Leanna can and will find a way of punishing you for forcing their hand. Tamiath will have some protection by virtue of his birth, but you… Crossing the Felielle throne can end very, very poorly.”
Aaron would know.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to absorb the full weight of Aaron’s words. “I know,” I say finally, putting my hand on the man’s shoulder. “And we should do it nonetheless.” My voice softens. “You need not come, Aaron. I will—”
He snorts and hands me the boots. “Oh, shut up. Of course I’m coming.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders, and I grin as I secure the documents I’ve been preparing into a travel pouch. “Can you bring Tamiath to the stable?”
“Already done,” Aaron says dryly. “Just because I wanted to warn you, doesn’t mean I didn’t know how the conversation would end.”
Tam indeed meets us in the stables, looking as bewildered and furious as I’d be in his place. Stepping out of the shadows, he pins Aaron and me with a stare that would send the most seasoned sailor scurrying across the deck. Behind him, however, three horses stand tacked and ready.
“Does one of you want to tell me what’s going on?” the prince demands. Although Aaron’s safe reappearance has dulled the edge of Tam’s murderous rage, his whole body is coiled with violence.
“Yes,” I say, meeting Tam’s gaze head-on. I jerk my head at his horse. “But en route. An explanation will take more time than we can spare just now. I’m asking you to trust me, Tam.”
To Tam’s credit, he says nothing and mounts his horse in a single practiced motion. I follow suit, albeit less gracefully, and point my mount to follow Aaron’s. With no basket attached to any of our saddles and me uncertain how far Bear can run beside the horses, I decide to brave the night without the pup. Once clear of the palace grounds, Tam clears his throat expectantly.
It takes me a solid hour to explain the situation—everything from the rite I witnessed between two Felielle seamen on the Aurora, to my subsequent crazy notion, to Aaron’s efforts in finding a priestess whose location, qualifications, discretion, and worldview matched ours.
The prince’s face grows graver with each word I utter. When I finish, Tam reins his horse up in front of me, forcing my mare to an undignified stop.
My chest tightens, but I straighten my back and stare right back at the prince, my chin held high.
“Nile.” His voice is sharp, but he checks it quickly. “You are talking about using a loophole in an archaic tradition. This idea is—”
“Brilliant?”
“I was going to say audacious, deceitful, and impudent,” says Tam.
“Storms know you had good language tutors,” I mutter.
“I’ve more words where those came from,” Tamiath says darkly.
I rest my hands on the pommel of the saddle. “I’m certain you do. But not one of those possible words includes illegal.”
Tamiath pauses, plainly running through the same laws in his mind that Aaron and I had considered. Tam’s jaw tightens. “It isn’t illegal,” he concedes finally. “But it is dishonest.”
“It will be the most honest thing we’ll have done thus far,” I snap with more rawness than I intend. “Tonight we will choose to be honest with ourselves. And we’ll do it in a way not even the King of Felielle can deny. And to save you time and effort, Aaron has already given me the you shall incur the throne’s wrath speech.”
Tam is silent, but in the moonlight, I see the emotions ripple through his usually schooled face. Disbelief. Anger. Wonder. Hope. “Let us be honest, then,” he says finally, gently. As if he’s afraid to believe his own words.
I bite my lip, throwing a quick glance at Aaron, who has considerately moved his horse a few paces away. “There is one other thing,” I tell Tam, watching Aaron’s straight back to ensure no hint of my words reaches his hearing. This last bit of the plan, I’ve held back from Aaron to give Tam a true choice. “You can take tonight one step further, you know. If you want to.”
Tam freezes, his gaze going to his lover before he can catch himself. When Tam turns back to me, the breath in his chest stills and his face glows with a mix of shock and desire. “You…” For the first time since I met him, Tam struggles for his words. “You…you wouldn’t mind?”
“How could I?” I say quietly and nudge my horse away to give Tam space to work through his thoughts.
The ride to the temple—or what’s left of one after years of abandonment and disrepair—ends up taking nearly three hours at a pace that leaves me uncertain of arriving with my neck and limbs intact. Tam and Aaron keep their seats with the ease of sailors minding a rocking deck, but I am sore, bleeding, and shaken to the very core when Aaron finally signals a stop. Tam lifts me off the saddle, his arms sliding around me protectively as he sets me to the ground.
“I’m fine,” I tell Aaron, who comes up with a worried expression to examine me.
Ignoring me, Aaron looks to Tam.
“She’s fine,” Tam tells him.
I scowl at them both. But I don’t mean it.
The temple’s door is long gone, though stone pillars still stand as sentinels before the entrance. A petite woman in gold priestess robes waits at the doorway, her hands inside wide bell sleeves. Her hair, white as virgin snow, cascades unbound to her waist. A horse, grazing on lush grass beside the small temple, whinnies a welcome to our mounts.
“Hello, then,” the woman says, her voice older than I expected.
Aaron bows before the priestess, going to one knee. Tam and I quickly follow suit. Kneeling beside Tam, I can feel his nervous tension.
The priestess runs her cool palms over our faces, and for a moment, I wonder if she might be blind, but then her eyes find mine, and I know she is not. “Rise and come, my children,” the priestess says. “We’ve little time before our absences might be discovered.”
Drawing the three of us inside the round temple, she motions to the center, where a hundred candles chase the night from the altar. Age-old dust hangs thick in the musty air, and the flickering candlelight illuminates runes of a forgotten language inscribed
forever into the walls. Atop the altar stone, an inkwell, knife, and pair of plain rings already await.
At the priestess’s instruction, we kneel on the cold, hard floor.
“Have you the contracts?” the priestess asks.
My heart and breath quicken. Reaching into my travel pouch, I pull out the pair of documents I prepared and hand them to the priestess. She surveys the writing carefully before setting the two parchments on the altar. A knife is placed atop the first contract, and rings atop the second.
My breath stills.
“The Goddess’s love is deep and enduring,” the priestess intones, looking between us. “There are many who find comfort in limits, strength in tradition. We respect and honor them today. But we also respect and honor the vanguard who will forge a path our children will travel.
“The rite of blood brothers is an ancient one. It was born of battle, when two warriors shared each other’s blood and declared themselves brothers. The family of one became the family of the other, to love, protect, and provide for. To this day, in the eyes of the Goddess and the law, the bond of blood brothers is forever binding.
“Three requirements must be met before two people are eligible to undertake the rite. You must be warriors. You must be facing battle and the threat of death. And you must make the choice willingly and knowingly.” The priestess pauses.
I reach toward Tam and squeeze his hand.
“Tamiath of Felielle and Nile of Ashing,” the priestess says, grasping our attention once more. “You are both warriors—one of land, the other of sea. Thus you’ve met the first requirement. You are both children of your kingdoms’ thrones. Your kingdoms’ deadly war is your war, now and always. The second requirement has thus been satisfied. As for the third…”
The priestess puts a hand on each of the two parchments on the altar. “I have two contracts here, both of which would forever bind you together. One in marriage, the other in brotherhood. You must make your choice openly and willingly, knowing that by taking one road, you are also choosing against the other. What is your choice?”