Healer's Touch (31 page)

“I know you’ve no reason to trust me,” Chari continued. “But I can’t see one of my sons murdered in the blood wars. I have to get out of Sardos. We could escape to Kjall together.”

“You’ll never survive,” said Isolda. “A spoiled girl like you? Go and sleep with your worthless husband; you haven’t the strength to live on your own in Kjall.”

“I
hate
Jauld,” said Chari, with passion.

Isolda fell silent. Through her bitter lenses, she’d seen Jauld and Chari as a happy couple enjoying an easy life at Isolda’s expense. But perhaps her perception had not been entirely accurate. Chari was a scheming sort of woman. Her professed love for Jauld could easily have been false, a strategy to promote the interests of her child over Isolda’s.

“When we knew each other in Sardos, I was only a girl,” said Chari. “I know you think I can’t manage on my own, that I can’t earn my own money. But I’ve grown up since those days. I
can
make it in Kjall. I
will
.”

Isolda looked harder at Chari. Perhaps there was more strength in this woman than she’d thought. Still, Chari had no idea what she was getting into. “Life in Riat is harder than you think. We live underground in something akin to a sewer, and it’s hard to find work. Most of the jobs are illegal and dangerous. And you’ll have two small children to take care of. I can’t see how you’ll possibly manage.”

“I’ll find a way,” said Chari.

Isolda shrugged. If Chari wanted to take her chances in Riat, so be it. She could learn for herself how hard it was. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Escape on a boat,” said Chari. “You and me.”

“With your children?” asked Isolda.

Chari nodded.

“I don’t know,” said Isolda. A woman with no street smarts and two small children could be more hindrance than help.

“At four in the morning, the shift changes on deck,” said Chari. “I think we should go around three, when the sailors are tired and less likely to take notice.”

“What time is it now?”

“Around midnight.”

“If you want so badly to escape, why didn’t you try it when the ship was in port?”

“I got caught,” said Chari. “Jauld locked me up until the ship sailed.”

“Hmm,” grunted Isolda. Chari’s ambition seemed to be greater than her skills, but Isolda admired her pluck.

“Just think about it—that’s all I ask,” said Chari. “And here’s a gift, to give you some idea of how serious I am.” She handed Isolda a bundle wrapped in cloth.

Isolda’s hand dropped with the weight as Chari gave it to her—the object was heavier than its size suggested. She unfolded the cloth and gasped as dull metal winked up at her. Chari had given her a pistol. “Is it loaded?”

Chari nodded. “I’m leaving tonight. I’ll knock on your door around three. You can decide then whether you want to come along.”

Chapter 32

Since he had only two horses, Marius could not bring the Sardossians on his trip to the imperial palace. Vora returned home to the Riat Underground. Caz refused to leave—he wanted to help find Isolda—and Rory could not be abandoned in the city at night. So Marius offered the two of them sleeping quarters at the villa and bade them stay there until he returned, hopefully with the means to pursue Jauld and Isolda.

How strange that he was leaving his home in the hands of a Sardossian man he barely knew, and he thought nothing of it.

When he reached the imperial palace, he pleaded his case to the night guards at the gates, and they passed him through to the Legaciatti who guarded the imperial hallway. After making it past those hurdles, he then had to persuade the guards who stood in front of Lucien’s bedroom door. All the while, he paced restlessly, feeling the clock ticking—Isolda was being carried farther away by the minute. Eventually, the guards capitulated, went inside the bedroom, and woke Lucien.

Marius and Drusus were called into the emperor’s sitting room.

Marius’s cheeks warmed as he saw that Vitala was with Lucien. She sat beside the emperor on a couch, clad in a dressing gown. He knew he shouldn’t be scandalized by the sight. The emperor and empress had a loving marriage, and while Vitala had chambers of her own, of course she would share Lucien’s bed when she had the opportunity.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting the sitting room in eerie gray shadow. Here and there, he caught a feature familiar to him—the carved edge of a bookcase, the soft darkness of a damask covering.

Vitala yawned.

Lucien gestured to the settee in front of him. “This had better be important.”

Marius sat. “Your Imperial Majesties, I apologize, but it’s an emergency. Isolda has been abducted by her former husband and carried away by ship.”

Vitala’s half-lidded eyes opened.

“When?” demanded Lucien.

“Only hours ago,” said Marius.

“Are you certain she was taken by force?” asked Vitala. “For all we know, she might have gone willingly.”

“She did not go willingly. He had a gun.” Marius told them the story as Rory had related it to him.

Vitala turned to Lucien. “Not much wind tonight. They can’t have sailed far.”

“Our ships will have the same poor wind,” said Lucien.

“Still, they can outrun a merchantman.”

Lucien nodded. “Marius, I’m going to give you temporary command of the
Soldier’s Sweep
. She’s a twenty-eight-gun frigate, nimble and fast, and more than a match for any merchant ship. I’ll compose a writ. Once you have it, you can march straight down to the docks, take command of the ship, and send it after—what’s the name of the Sardossian ship?”

“The
Frolic
.”

“May the gods speed you on your way,” said Lucien, signaling the guards to bring his writing implements.

“No need for a writ,” said Vitala. “I’ll go with him.”

“Are you sure?” A line appeared in the middle of Lucien’s brow. “You’ve been working hard these past weeks.”

“One of us should go, and you’ve got that meeting tomorrow,” said Vitala.

Marius didn’t dare say a word, but he was thrilled and relieved that the empress was coming, especially since he knew nothing about sailing ships. “Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Oh, Soldier’s Hell,” groaned Lucien. “Forget the meeting. I’ll go as well.”

∞

Though it was the middle of the night, Isolda couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was because she’d been unconscious so long, which had disrupted her body’s rhythms, or maybe her mind was just preoccupied. Was she better off trying to escape with foolish Chari and her small children, or on her own? Was there more than one boat available?

Since Chari’s gift of the pistol, Isolda was taking the woman more seriously. She turned the weapon over in her hand, trying to figure out how it worked. She’d never fired a pistol before, had never even held one until now. Pulling back the hammer, she felt it catch. Now it was cocked and ready to fire—presumably, if someone had already loaded it. Should she leave it in this state? Perhaps not; it seemed dangerous. She uncaught the mechanism and lowered it gently to its resting place.

At least Rory had gotten away. She didn’t want to abandon the boy in Riat, but Rory would be better off as an orphan in Kjall than as a stray in Sardos. She hoped he’d run straight to Marius, who would surely take him in once he learned what had happened. She might never see him again, but her boy would have a chance. That was all she asked for him, a chance. But gods, she would miss him.

Someone knocked at the door.

Chari? It was a harder knock than before, and it seemed too early for her return.

Isolda wrestled her way out of the hammock and wrapped the gun back up in its cloth. She dropped it into the hammock, but immediately saw that was a mistake: its weight sank into the netting, making its presence obvious. Quickly, she retrieved the gun and hid it in a dark corner, while the hammock netting bobbed up and down.

A key scrabbled in the lock. Then the door opened.

It was Jauld. She retreated a step, wishing she had not put down the gun.

“Isolda,” he said. “I thought I’d see how you were settling in.”

“Settling in?” Did he think this was the equivalent of her taking a room at a boarding-house? “This is a prison you’ve put me in.”

“Not for long. Only until you forget about Kjall and remember your duties to me,” said Jauld.

Her
duties?
She felt like throwing up. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Jauld shook his head. “Our marriage contract says you do.”

If he succeeded in taking her back to Sardos, she had a feeling the relative freedom of her former life there would end. He’d have her watched all the time. He wouldn’t let her handle money. He’d lock her up at night, worried she’d escape again and run home to Kjall. “We’re divorced—I told you. Our marriage contract is no longer in effect.”

“There is no such thing as divorce.” He stepped inside and closed the cabin door, sealing them in.

Perhaps she was wrong to argue with him. Perhaps she should act meek and accepting in hopes that he would go away—so that she might have a chance to escape with Chari. She forced some submission into her voice. “I’m settling in well. Thank you.”

He nodded, looking about the cabin. His eyes lit on the cloth bundle in the corner. “What’s that on the floor?”

“It’s...nothing,” she stammered. “A blanket.”

His brow furrowed, and he stepped toward it. “There was no blanket in here before.”

Gods help her, she was a terrible liar; she could not think of a plausible explanation. “But there was. Perhaps you did not notice.”

As he took another step, she moved to place herself between him and the pistol.

Jauld folded his arms. “Why do you not want me to see it?”

Unless she could think of a way to divert him within the next few seconds, he was going to discover the pistol, and then he would know she was up to something, and she’d never get away. Diving for the cloth bundle, she scooped it up. “Here,” she said, holding it out. “See? It’s just a blanket.”

Jauld reached for it, and she pulled it away.

“You’re hiding something,” he accused, stepping toward her.

She backed away, shaking her head.

“What’s under the cloth?”

Isolda looked and saw that a corner had fallen away, exposing a bit of metal. She searched for a plausible explanation and came up with nothing.

Jauld reached. “Give it to me.”

Isolda took the pistol from the fabric. She leveled it at him and pulled back the hammer.

Wide-eyed, he retreated a step. “Where did you get that?” He hesitated, uncertain. Then he darted forward, reaching for the weapon. He grabbed it by the muzzle.

Isolda pulled the trigger, and a deafening crack split the air. Acrid smoke stung her eyes. Gods, what had she done?

Jauld lay on the floor, unmoving. Had she killed him? The weight of the deed trampled over her like a four-in-hand. She threw the spent weapon away as if it were a hot coal, yanked open the cabin door, and ran out. “Chari!” she yelled. If they were going to escape together, it had to be now.

She was in a narrow corridor lined with alcoves. Within the alcoves were hammocks, some of them occupied. Eyes watched her, uncertain.

A ladder, there! That should lead up to the ship’s deck, or at least to a higher level within the hold.

She ran to the ladder and began to ascend.

“Hey,” cried a male voice behind her. Someone grabbed her around the waist. She kicked frantically and felt her sandal connect with his nose. With a muffled cry, he fell away. Drawing on strength she’d hardly known she had, she scrambled up the ladder and onto the ship’s deck. A square piece of wood lay next to the opening: a trapdoor. She picked it up and slammed it into the gap, hoping to delay anyone who tried to come up after her.

The deck around her was deserted. A roaring noise filled her ears, but after a moment’s confused panic, she recognized it as the harmless singing of the wind in the sails. Toward the front of the ship, she spotted three sailors slumped against a railing. Two men were at the wheel and another looked out over the prow.

If this ship was anything like the one on which she’d sailed to Kjall, the boats would be stored near the stern. Ducking down to keep her shadow small, she ran toward the back of the ship, where she found a single jollyboat hanging off the stern, suspended by davits.

She stared at the tangle of ropes and pulleys that hung over the boat. How in the world was she to get the craft free? It looked like one got into the boat first, and then did something with the ropes—it wasn’t clear what. As she pondered this, with her blood pounding in her ears, she heard a noise behind her. She glanced back and saw the trapdoor she’d come through earlier pop off the deck.

Soldier’s Hell
. She ducked around a trio of barrels, putting them between her and the newcomer. Unfortunately, this also blocked her own vision. She heard footsteps approaching and circled around, staying out of sight.

“Isolda?” called a soft voice.

She sighed. It was Chari. Isolda popped her head over the barrels and said, “Here.”

Chari came around, and Isolda saw that she was carrying both her children: a four-year-old boy and an infant.

“Are you crazy?” Isolda hissed. “They’ll make noise.”

“I can’t leave without them,” said Chari. “Anyway, they’re drugged.”

Isolda looked again. Both boys were soundly asleep. A trail of drool leaked from the four-year-old’s mouth. She shook her head. “How do we get the boat down to the water?”

“We have to get into it first,” said Chari. “You go, and I’ll hand the children down.”

Isolda climbed over the railing, aware of how close she was to the churning sea below. One wrong move, and she’d be in the water. A lee-lurch tossed her sideways, and she clung to the burnished wood as if sticking to the saddle of a cantankerous horse. Her hands shook as she lowered herself into the swinging boat. “We may have company. A sailor tried to grab me as I came on deck.”

“I took care of him,” said Chari.

Well, that was unexpected. Isolda would not ask how. “Hand down the children.”

Chari gave her the four-year-old first. He was heavy, but soft and unresisting—thoroughly unconscious. She lowered him like a sack of meal into the stern of the jollyboat and reached up to take the infant.