Flesh and Fire (39 page)

“Sin Washer be merciful. . ..”

Barefoot, wearing only a robe against the night air, Kaïnam flung open his bedchamber door and raced down the stairs, knocking aside the servant who had come to rouse him. His father was already dressed, standing on the open portico, only slightly protected from the rain. He was accompanied by his ever-present guard, and even as Kaïnam came up beside him, the guard who had been stationed outside his chamber door slipped into place to his left.

Master Vineart Edon, a constant visitor in the months since the barrier went up, joined them within minutes.

“What further madness, what insanity is this?” Kaïnam demanded of the Vineart. “What spells have you encircled us with, to cause this?”

Firespouts were deadly, the bane of any shipping port; no captain would dare wend his way through them, not when a single burst could destroy his entire ship. To cause such a thing, even in defense, was to doom them to isolation and poverty forever, for no matter what the future brought, none would ever believe the harbor safe again.

“Master Edon, is this your doing?” Erebuh asked, staring out into the night, where columns appeared and disappeared without visible pattern.

“Of course it is,” Kaïnam shouted. “Firespouts don’t simply appear where none have been before, not without magic—”

“Kaïnam, I swear to you.” Edon’s voice cut across Kaïnam’s, even without raising his own tone. “To create that many firespouts is a skill beyond any single Vineart, even a Master. Whatever happens out there, it is not my doing.”

“There’s a ship out there,” one of the guards said, looking through a viewscope. He handed it to Kaïnam, who looked as well.

“A Caulic-built vessel, by the lines,” he said. “Coming straight for us, as though they knew exactly where we were.”

“Could the fires be theirs?”

“Cauls?” That surprised a laugh out of Edon. “Not unless they’ve found a river that runs of gold, to buy the firespells and waterspells needed, and the Vinearts skilled enough to decant them. And why would the Cauls cast firespouts around their own ships?”

“Two enemies, come so close in one night, attacking each other?” the prince asked. “But who would come to our aid thus?”

“Our aid?” a quiet voice mused in Kaïnam’s ear, an impossibly familiar voice from out of his dream. “Our aid, or our downfall? This, too, we shall take the blame for, however it falls out.”

Kaïnam alone heard the Wise Lady’s voice speaking his innermost fears, and he alone felt a shiver in his spine.

THE NEXT MORNING wreckage spread across the shallow waters of the bay, driftwood bobbing on the waves, barrels and spars drifting in the tide, while the stink of burned, bloated bodies rose from the shore. Kaïnam guided the salvage operation, as befitted his father’s heir, but the bile in his mouth came not from the scene, but what he dreaded lay beyond.

None of this had been accident, or coincidence. He knew that, deep in his gut. Someone had set the killer to prick them, push them into the ill-advised use of magic with withdrawal from the world. Because of that, someone had sent those ships to discover them—for good or ill, it did not matter now, because someone—the same someone? A different enemy?—had used magic again to create firespouts, making it look as though Atakus, not content to simply disappear, had used spellwines to kill.

Princelings using magic to wage war, to kill. Forbidden, by Sin Washer’s Command. No one would ever believe their innocence, not now. Not after what they had done. Someone had done this to them, planned and prepared the way. But for what? What purpose, what plan?

“We took the bait, Thaïs,” he told the dream voice, now silent. “We took the bait, and sealed our own doom. But I will not let it go unanswered. I swear to you; your death, our loss of honor—though it cost me everything, it will not go unanswered.”

The harsh cry of a seabird overhead was the only response to his vow.