Captain's Fury (30 page)

"I'm going to get some sleep now," Araris said. "I'll sit with him tonight."

Kitai glowered up at the
singulare
as if she would object, but she did not. Tavi supposed that after four sleepless days at his side, the bags beneath her eyes had finally begun to outweigh her pride.

Tavi spent the rest of the day fighting his rolling stomach and giving considerable thought to blissfully brief suicide. He drifted into a sleep broken by disorienting dreams and waves of particularly acute nausea. By the time the daylight had begun to fade, Kitai lay curled up on the lower half of his bunk, sound asleep.

With Araris's help, Tavi staggered out onto the deck once night had fallen. Most of the crew sought their bunks and hammocks after the sun set, and only a few remained on deck. Tavi stretched out at the base of the mainmast, where he hoped the rocking of the ship would be least felt. He watched as the stars began to appear on a fine, clear night, and dropped into a true sleep for the first time in days.

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was a small but steadily growing pang of hunger in his belly. The night had grown pleasantly chill, though no less clear, and when he sat up he was nearly dizzied by a startling lack of disorientation. His nausea had faded to a faint echo of itself. He stood up slowly and stretched.

"Try to focus on the stars, or else the horizon," said a soft voice at the side of the ship. "It can help, sometimes."

Tavi padded over the deck and stood at the rail with Araris. The
singulare
stared out at the water, his eyes focused into the distance, and Tavi was content to stand beside him in silence for a long while. The sea rushed against the ship, a constant murmur, and their passage left trails of luminescence in their wake. Tavi turned his face into the breeze, tried to ignore the sore muscles of his stomach, and savored the absence of illness.

Araris stared out at the waters. Then he pushed away from the railing and padded away. He returned and offered Tavi a flat, rectangular piece of what looked something like very dry bread.

"Ship's crackers," he supplied. "Good for a sour stomach."

Tavi nodded his thanks and gnawed at a corner of the bread. He'd broken stones softer than the stuff, but with enough work he managed to get a few gravelly bits to break off, and they softened in his mouth as he chewed. They tasted a little stale, but his stomach began to feel steadier after only a few mouthfuls.

Between bites, Tavi asked, "What was he like?"

Araris's head turned toward him in the darkness. Tavi could see nothing of his expression—only a glitter from his eyes. Araris stared at him for a time, then turned his face back to the sea. "Arrogant," he said, finally. "Impatient. Short-tempered." His teeth gleamed. "And compassionate. Intelligent. Generous. Fearless." Araris sighed. "Too much so."

Tavi said nothing, waiting.

"Septimus was never satisfied with things the way they were. Everywhere he went, in everything he did, he tried to leave a place better than when he found it. When he saw injustice, he worked to set it right. When he found victims, he offered them succor—then he avenged them. If he sank his teeth into an argument, he'd hold on until he'd won it or it died. I never saw him speak an unkind word to a child, strike a dog, or take spurs to his horse.

"When he fought, it was like a thunderstorm going to war, and I never saw his better with a blade. We would have taken a spear in the heart for him—we, his
singulares
. We all thought he would become a great First Lord. As great as the original Gaius Primus. He was one of the first Citizens to speak out publicly against slavery, you know."

Tavi shook his head. "I didn't."

"He had a habit of making allies of his enemies," Araris said. "You should have seen the brawls he had with Antillus Raucus at the Academy—but they ended as friends. He had… a kind of grace, about him. He could face a man down without taking his pride. If he'd lived, he would have…" Araris's voice closed off for a moment. He cleared his throat, and said, "Everything would be different."

"If," Tavi said. The word carried far more weight than it should have— bitterness, longing, sadness.

Araris squinted out at the ocean. "And he loved your mother more than air and light. He defied his father's direct command when he wed her. Gaius had other ideas about who would make him a suitable wife."

Araris was silent for a long time. "Perhaps," he said, the word coming out reluctantly. "Great furies know there was distance enough between him and his own father. But perhaps not. Children can change a man like few other things can."

Araris shook his head. "I know you've been planning it. You've thought about what we're doing, and how. You've thought about what was to be gained or lost. But I wonder if you've given much consideration to the why of it."

Tavi felt a flash of uncertainty, followed hard by anger. He swallowed both with the next mouthful of water, and said, "Because it's going to save lives."

"It might," Araris said, nodding. "But… I wonder if you have the right to make this choice."

"I'd approach Gaius," Tavi said, "but for whatever reason, he's out of reach. I already tried to contact him via my coin. Ehren, too."

"From what you told me, you already did ask him about seeking a diplomatic solution," Araris said. "And he flatly denied you."

"That was before he knew all the details."

"Which gives you the right to decide policy that's going to have a great many repercussions? Leaving aside the legality of what you're doing, what you're attempting is going to be viewed very badly from a great many directions, even if you're totally successful."

Tavi sighed. "You think I'm overstepping my authority as a Cursor."

"I know you're doing that," Araris replied. "I question whether or not you're overstepping your… new authority."

"What difference does it make?"

"Your claim to that authority is based upon authority derived from the law and from principles of justice," Araris said, his voice quiet and intent. "If you begin your new role by spitting on that law, those principles, you're undermining your own position. Eroding the ethical foundations from which your authority should derive."

Tavi heard himself chuckle quietly. "Believe it or not, I've thought of that."

Araris tilted his head slightly to one side, listening.

"What I learned from Nasaug, and the opportunity that it created, is clearly information of critical importance. It would probably influence Gaius's reasoning very strongly—certainly enough to force him to reconsider his earlier decision. Agreed?"

Araris nodded once.

Tavi turned to face him. "But he's gone. I don't know where he is, or what he's doing, but for the purposes of this crisis, he's been incapacitated. Normally, if that happened, we'd consult with whoever was next in the chain of command—and then that person would make the decision."

Araris made a small, skeptical sound. "That's… quite a shaky foundation."

Tavi half grinned. "I know," he said quietly. "But… if I'm to be what I was meant to be, it means that I have a responsibility to this Realm and its people. And if I don't act, it's going to be a real nightmare." He put a hand on Araris's shoulder. "You ask me how I can possibly justify doing this. But the real question is this: How can I possibly justify doing
nothing?"

Araris stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and snorted.

They turned back to stare at the ocean again, and Tavi asked, "I need you. Be honest with me. Are you against this?"

"I was against you rushing in without being sure of your own motives," he replied. "Your father was a good man. But he had a tendency to trust his instincts too much. To act without thinking. He leaned on his power to get him out of any problems that arose."

"Not really an issue with me," Tavi murmured.

Araris laughed quietly. "No. You're stronger than he was." He mused for a moment. "And probably more dangerous."

Tavi hardly knew how to respond to that. He lapsed into silence for another several minutes. Then he asked, "Your opinion. Can we do it?"

"As you wish, milord," Araris responded. His smile faded. "And someone killed him. So you're practicing tomorrow, and every day after. And you'll keep it up until I'm satisfied."

"When will that be?"

"When you can beat me," Araris said. He bowed his head to Tavi and nodded toward the cabin. "Get some rest, milord."

Chapter 24

Isana watched as Tavi's bare back slammed into the bulkhead of the
Slives
cabin for the ninth time in thirty minutes. The young man bounced back wheezing, but his sword kept moving, catching and turning two slashes and sliding aside a long thrust from his opponent. He wasn't quite fast enough, though, and a string of scarlet beads appeared along one of his ribs.

Isana winced, more at the flash of frustration and chagrin that came from Tavi than from sympathy for his pain. The wound was a minor one, and Isana could close it without trouble, after practice. It wouldn't even scar. Araris would never inflict anything more serious upon any student, much less upon this one.

Tavi'd had the wind knocked out of him, and it showed when he let out a weak yell and pressed a furious attack against Araris. The
singulare
blocked every single attack, seemingly by the barest of margins, then made a peculiar, circular motion of his wrist. Tavi's sword rolled abruptly from his grasp and fell to the deck.

Tavi didn't wait a second, pressing in close and getting a grip on Araris's sword arm. He slammed his forehead against Araris's cheekbone, and drove a hard blow into his ribs with another yell. Isana tensed suddenly, half-rising, as she sensed the wave of pure anger now rolling from her son.

Araris absorbed the blows like an anvil—they simply impacted him, to no apparent effect. He seized the wrist of Tavi's gripping arm with his own free hand, then turned, weight shifting in a little up-and-down bobbing motion.

Tavi, suddenly drawn off-balance, flipped entirely over, and Araris guided his back down onto the wooden deck. He hit hard enough to make Isana wince again—but not, she was certain, as hard he could have.

Tavi lay there on the deck, blinking up at the sails and the sky, stunned. The sailors, most of whom had been watching the practice, let out a chorus of cheers, jeers, and advice, accompanied by more than a little laughter.

"Temper," Araris said, his voice steady. He wasn't so much as breathing hard. "You're a naturally aggressive fighter, but anger is not your ally in a match like this. You've got to keep yourself centered and thinking. Use the anger. Don't let it use you."

He sheathed his sword and offered Tavi a hand up. The younger man glowered at the older for a moment, then shook his head and took his hand. "What was that wristlock?" he wheezed. "I've never seen that one before."

"It's fairly simple," Araris replied. "You've had enough for one day, though. I'll show you tomorrow, if you like."

"I'm all right," Tavi said. "Show me now."

Araris tilted his head, his lips pursed in thought, then suddenly grinned. "As you wish. Get some water, and we'll go another round. If you can keep your head, I'll show you the lock and the counter."

Tavi recovered his sword from the deck, saluted Araris, and sheathed it. Then he walked over to the water barrel beside where Isana sat on a small folding stool. He smiled at her, dunked a wooden cup into the water, and drank it all down, followed by a second. In the two days since he'd begun recovering from his seasickness, his color had returned, and he'd been shoveling down enough food for two at mealtimes—despite the rather questionable provender to be had from the
Slive's
cook.

Tavi and Araris were sparring shirtless, apparently to keep Tavi from having all of his shirts cut to ribbons and stained with blood. Isana had been studiously avoiding staring at Araris. She would not have thought that a man his age would look so athletic, without the use of watercraft—but he was very nearly as lean as Tavi, his body hard with flat, ropy muscle. Of course, he'd spent all those years in the forge back at the steadholt, and she'd once seen him practicing there by the light of dying embers, late one night, using an iron bar in place of an actual weapon.