Princess at Sea (4 page)

My pulse slowed, and I began to shiver. My sister was safe. My sister was alive to irritate me for another day.

Duncan touched my shoulder, and I met his eyes from around my soggy strands of hair. He took a breath, then with his brown eyes holding a defiant slant, he pulled me into an inappropriately public, crushing hug where everyone could see. To push away was not an option, and I let my head drop into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, shaking from the cold and exertion while I breathed in the scent of leather and soap from his shave yesterday. My eyes warmed with tears no one could separate from the dripping water.

How can I be so fortunate?
I held myself apart from him, yet he cared for me still. That I had to keep my secret history from him was like a guilty thorn. Slowly, I pulled away, and feeling it, he let me go. His expressive eyes from behind his wind-tossed bangs met mine, forgiving me again for having sensed my acceptance before protocol pushed me away. Reassured, he turned to the
Sandpiper
, yelling out for clean water and blankets before we even got there.

I wiped the tears and salt water from my face, my gaze falling upon the Misdev warship nearing in a wide tack. My overwhelming relief at having saved Contessa turned to shame when I found the black and green of Jeck's uniform at the bow of the Misdev ship. Even from this distance, I could see his stance was stiff and tense.

My fingers trembled as Duncan took them in a more appropriate show of concern, and I pulled my attention from Jeck, my face warming in shame. Jeck would know. The rival player from Misdev would think I was a fool, rightly claiming I was unfit to play the game if I couldn't even keep my royal couple from killing each other. And as the crew began chanting to keep their strokes in time with each other, I wondered if Jeck might be right.

I tugged at Contessa's clean but damp hair, yanking the
pearl-inlaid brush through her waist-long yellow strands with an aggressive strength. And the queen of Costenopolie, ruler of the seas and the vast inland forests, took my tight-lipped abuse in a shamed silence.

From above the ridiculously small cabin came the noise of my horse being winched aboard. The room off the officers' quarters had once been first mate Haron's, but it was now swathed with so much silk and linen that the original lines couldn't be seen. It was mostly bed, actually, with only a small space for Contessa's drying clothes and the two of us while I made her presentable. The ceiling was just over my head, and I held my balance easily under the swells since the sails were down, and the deck remained reasonably level.

My foul mood had started the moment I had landed upon the deck of the
Sandpiper
in my sodden underthings amid a flurry of overdone excitement. Contessa had claimed most of the attention, which didn't bother me at all as I slunk belowdecks and into some clothes. Even her getting the bath-water first, and therefore hot, hadn't bothered me. Much. I had yet to bathe, and salt had dried on me and in my hair. Duncan's sweets were beyond rescue. But what bothered me the most was that Jeck had taken the opportunity to switch boats.

The powerfully built, pensive man was supposed to keep himself on the warship with the rest of the Misdev soldiers. Under the guise of making sure Alex was all right, he had gained my boat, and I felt his presence aboard almost as clearly as if he were standing behind my shoulder, his resonant voice muttering about foolish women and games and kingdoms lost from ignorance.

On the surface, Jeck was the captain of our neighboring King Misdev's guards, on loan until a new captain to manage the Misdev soldiers that Alex had brought with him could be arranged for. The reality was far more dangerous. Jeck was a rival player, and I didn't trust him, despite Kavenlow's assurances and the Misdev officer's claim of a temporary alliance.

It didn't help that Jeck had once tried to lure me from Kavenlow to be his apprentice. The memory and fear of the temptation still lingered. It was an odd balance we players existed in, with both a public persona always near the throne and a hidden status known only to other players. I publicly outranked him and could have him flogged, though he was too clever to give me the excuse. Privately, he was a master player despite being only a few years my senior, and I amere apprentice, and it was my task to keep him from taking advantage of it. The delicate balance was one I was becoming reasonably good at, but he, again, was better at it. And as I tugged the brush through Contessa's hair, I spared a thought that perhaps Kavenlow had let the potentially dangerous man accompany me in the hopes of an impromptu lesson in humility.

Despite his physical prowess—which even I had to admit made the man ruggedly attractive—Jeck was the only player who could use his magic to heal or kill with his hands. I had the potential as well, but since Kavenlow couldn't teach me how, I was stymied, my loyalty to Kavenlow keeping me from reaching my full potential. It wasn't as if I could safely teach myself. As Jeck had been quick to point out when he unearthed my ability, healing and killing are different sides to the same knife—and a knife will kill you if you make a mistake.

I was sure Jeck was with Alex right now, filling his ears with propaganda under the guise of arranging for a new sword for his sovereign's youngest son. Until Alex had married into the Costenopolie family, he had been one of Jeck's pieces and was certainly conditioned to heed Jeck's counsel both because Jeck was the captain of his father's guard and because of Jeck's magical abilities. That Alex was now Kavenlow's piece to manipulate probably didn't mean gull spots to Jeck. He was up to something. I couldn't believe that he would voluntarily leave his playing field for this amount of time if he didn't think it would benefit him in some large fashion.

Alex had been properly frightened for his wife when we finally got back aboard, his lost sword forgotten in the fear he might have killed Contessa. I knew that the emotion would pale when time put distance between his fear and the memory of her throwing his grandfather's sword into the drink. If pride kept Contessa from admitting she'd made a mistake, Alex might listen to the first person in the devious royal courts who saw a chance to gain personal power by setting the young prince actively against her.

Worried, I yanked the brush through Contessa's hair. She silently winced when I found a knot and the brush jerked to a stop. “Sorry,” I muttered, remembering how it hurt when Heather, my childhood friend and handmaiden, took her frustration out on me in a similar fashion. Immediately, I set the brush down to pick out the snarl.

“You're hurting me,” Contessa complained, sounding fearful about what I might come back with. In public, she was the queen, and I was her sister-by-law and respected member of her court. Privately, she took counsel from me and sometimes-harsh criticism as I tried to teach her a lifetime of political grace before she stuck her foot in her mouth so far she choked us all.

“You were a fool,” I said, thinking it would be easier to cut the knot the salt water had made of her hair than continue to pick it out. “Wars have started over less.”

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the small hand mirror and watched what I was doing. “He can't start a war with his wife.”

Lips tight, I dabbed the barest hint of fragrant oil on my fingers to try to loosen the snarl. “Yes he can,” I said, and her eyes met mine in the mirror. The deep blue of them were frightened. Good. She should be. She might be back on the boat, but her head was barely above water, and I think she had just realized it.

“What should I do?” she asked. “Apologizing will make me look weak. I'm a queen.”

“You should have thought of that before you threw his sword into the sea.” Taking up the brush, I roughly continued untangling her hair. The faint smell of fish rose from me, and I grimaced. “What were you thinking?” I accused. “It was his grandfather's sword. It protected the royal family through every battle. He can't replace it. And from a practical standpoint, what is he supposed to do for the rest of the trip? Swords of that quality are not commonplace. He'll have to rely upon another man's blade. Do you have any idea what that means to a man? To a prince?”

Her face miserable, she set the hand mirror down so I couldn't see her tears. “I will publicly apologize and give him a new sword,” she said, her voice low.

My breath escaped me in a tired hiss. “You will do no such thing. You will publicly tell him that you stand by your decision to require royal approval for any mutilations of thieves. And tonight, you will apologize profusely in the privacy of your room. On your knees with all the humility the nuns taught you. You will tell him you're a fool, that what you did deserves a flogging, and you will give him the strap to do it.”

“No!” she cried, a hand rising to her mouth. “I can't!”

I edged past the chair holding her washed dress to stand in front of her. My brow was pinched enough to give me a headache, and my stomach was tight with worry. “You will.”

“I can't!”

“You threw the sword of a prince of Misdev into the sea. You will.”

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping from her dark lashes. I stifled my jealousy at how much she looked like our mother: small, graceful, and pale, someone strong of will but needing to be protected. I was too tall to be delicate, my skin dark and my womanly curves merely suggestions. That I could ride like a man and protect myself was often small consolation.

Contessa nodded, eyes still closed as she accepted my counsel. Immediately I softened. “But, Contessa?” I said, and her eyes opened. “I can guarantee that if you are truly sorry, he will see it, and he won't be able to lift a finger against you. Most likely he will beg for your forgiveness for nearly drowning you. Not that you deserve it,” I added sourly.

“But what if he does? What if he hits me?”

It was a frightened whisper, and I frowned. “Then he didn't hear the sincerity in your voice, and you deserved it.” She blinked violently to forestall more tears, and exasperated, I knelt to take her hands in mine. They were very cold. “You handled the situation very badly,” I berated her gently. “Word will go out at the next port that you can be goaded into a mistake by anger. Tonight is a pause on the balance point, the sole chance for words to be said and heard clearly before others cloud Alex's judgment.”
Unless Jeck already ruined it.
“Don't make an entire kingdom suffer for your pride,” I said, trying to meet her eyes. “He's a good man. You shamed Mother and Father by bringing his honor into question.”

Her gaze dropped, and I thought how easy it was for me to be spouting advice. Me, who almost sent my kingdom to war over my pride when I vowed to kill Alex's brother for murdering our parents. I almost did, but Jeck convinced me not to. Jeck—who still harbored a lust for Costenopolie's ships and forests, who was probably whispering in Alex's ear this very moment.

“I'm sorry,” Contessa whispered again, a single tear sliding down a well-marked trail. She reached up to wipe it away, her deep blue eyes flicking to mine.

I stood, handing her a soft cloth. “You should be.” Going behind her, I gathered her hair, relaxing now that it seemed I might be able to keep everything intact another day. “Here,” I said. “I'll put your hair up like Mother kept hers. You can at least look nice while groveling.”

A worried sound came from her, part relief but mostly worried resignation. “Some of this is his fault,” she said petulantly. “I left, and he followed. I said stop, and he didn't.”

“Most of it's his fault,” I agreed, and she started, clearly surprised.

“But you told me to . . .”

I nodded. “His fault for goading you beyond reason. But you did throw his sword into the sea. You outrank him. The fault lies with you.” I divided the silky mass of her hair into three strands. “Me? I probably would have punched him in the belly and tied him to the mainmast. There would have been no way to make amends for that.”

She laughed, though it was decidedly forced. It ended in a sigh, and I began braiding her hair, weaving silk rings into the plait as I went. I'd make her look like an angel. Alex didn't have a chance, no matter what Jeck was telling him.

Technically, Alex was my piece to play with, and Jeck shouldn't be here, but there were only six rules to the game, and this situation wasn't covered by any of them.
Why did you let him come, Kavenlow?
I thought, wondering if I was keeping Jeck busy while my master set other plans in motion. If so, it was a very dangerous game. “You know,” I said as I worked, “you shouldn't be so harsh on Alex.”

Her head dropped to pull the hair from my fingers. “He doesn't like me,” she said.