Raven's Ladder (51 page)

“The Seers have corrupted Ryllion with the Cent Regus curse,” Tabor Jan persisted.

“Be silent,” the queen growled. “Ryllion
slays
beastmen. He’s shown me their bodies. It’s a mercy, I say, to wipe them from the Expanse. All of them. Yes, Cyndere, even your ugly friend. Imagine the fear that creature must feel, the confusion. How can a life like that be worth living?”

“They were not carcasses that you saw,” said Tabor Jan. “They were sleeping. Now they’re awake.”

“Mother, I’ll investigate,” said Partayn.

“I’m going too,” said Cyndere. “We’ll take father’s secret stair. I’m sorry, though, Captain. You’ll have to wear a blindfold.” She lifted the breakfast napkin from the table, then descended from the dais, walked around behind him, and tied it over his eyes.

Ryllion stood on the prow of the
Escape
and watched for glimpses of Bel Amica as the morning sun began to break through the heavy cloud bank. He clawed neat lines into the polished wooden railing, rehearsing the simple steps of the plan. He had not slept, but he was not tired. Zeal ran as hot as the blood in his veins.

Zeal and fear. Fear that he would disappoint his moon-spirit. Fear that the Seers would determine he was not fit for this venture.

The tide has begun to recede
.

He had imagined it all so many times. Before sunset, Bel Amica would hail him a hero. He would fulfill the promise he had made to himself—that he would break free from his family’s lowly and humiliating history. His father had been weak, his mother ashamed. But he had escaped a life of service in the shipyards, grown stronger than any who stood in his way, and seized what could be taken.

His first plan had failed. He had slain Deuneroi in secret, plotting to catch the widowed heiress in her grief. But Cyndere had resisted him, and Partayn had returned as Bel Amica’s heir. No matter. Pleading with his moon-spirit for greater strength, Ryllion had been satisfied. While he did not like the troubling changes in his body, he told himself it was only a temporary blessing to help him gain the throne. He would reign as a king, the first ruler of the full Expanse since Tammos Raak himself.

Rain fell in wind-swept curtains to the south, concealing the descending moon. The Seers would not like it. It was more difficult, they said, for the moon-spirits to hear calls for help or to observe the virtue of faithful and obedient servants when clouds got in the way.

“Captain?”

He turned to find Cesylle, Emeriene’s miserable, cowering husband standing behind him on the deck. Behind Cesylle, he saw Cesylle in miniature—a small, neatly jacketed toddler with the same haunted, bitter expression, his chubby fingers gripping a toy harpoon.

“The tide is high. Pretor Xa is on his way to let the beastmen into the boat.”

Ryllion started. “They told you this?”

“They tell me everything,” Cesylle boasted. He had a bad habit of trying to smile when all he could do was sneer.

“Get out of here,” Ryllion woofed. “I must be single-minded.”

Cesylle chuckled. “They told me to wait here. In case you need help. When you take the throne, I’ll be promoted to the court’s high judge.”

“That will be for me to decide,” Ryllion growled, although, in truth, he
could not remember the proper procedure for installing his officials and council.

Cesylle shuffled up closer. His young son scowled, glancing about as if in serious anticipation of some threat. “Have you heard?” he asked. “We’re going to have a skydragon, Ryllion. We will soar on the back of a winged steed.”

“Pretor Xa told me. They’d best hope it isn’t the Keeper.” He paused long enough to enjoy Cesylle’s look of concern, and then he laughed and shoved the little man’s shoulder. A little too hard, perhaps. The silence that followed, as they watched the gate, was strained.

The Seers have sent Cesylle to this ship
. Ryllion gripped the railing so tightly the hardened wood splintered.
They mean for me to let the beastmen kill him. That will bring Emeriene back within my reach. They know my desires better than I thought
.

Suddenly impatient, he pounded on the rail, and it broke. Cesylle winced, alarmed.

Ryllion growled, “Where is the queen? And where are Partayn and Cyndere? They should be approaching by now. The tide is high.”

“They should be here by now,” Cesylle agreed, lifting his son onto his shoulders.

“I’ll enjoy cutting those monsters to pieces. Beastmen are abominations. They live for violence. Nothing will please me more than to prove myself stronger than they are.”

Where is the queen? Spirit, I have followed your voice. I am ready. Raise me up
.

Wynn sat on top of the stack of logs, trunks with bark smooth as marble and just as fluid in swirling color. He was of no use to the loaders, and so another day was passing uneventfully.

Elbows on his knees, his chin on his knuckles, he pounded out an uneven rhythm with his heels against the logs.

The air still carried the tang of old smoke. Wynn gazed across to the inlet’s far shore. A grand ship, the
Escape
. Cyndere’s sisterlies and Partayn’s brotherhood hurried up and down the dock, taking turns in the lifts to festoon
its riggings with banners and ribbons, set the Bel Amican flags to flying, and light moon-spirit lamps all along its railings.

The docks were crowded with grim-faced guards carrying torches, spears, and powerful bows.

I could stow away on that ship
, he thought.
Cortie’s gone, so I might as well
.

“Wynn?”

Luci and Margi stood smiling and holding hands behind him. Luci still looked at him as if he were some great hero, and Margi still regarded him with suspicion and disgust.

“Go away,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“But don’t you want to see it happen?” Luci asked. “It’s happening soon. In there.” She pointed to the new guard, the one who had replaced Balax and his brothers. “Madi’s going to be there to see it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. “Madi’s gone, just like Cortie. Wipe those smiles off your faces, or I’ll smack ’em off.”

“You’re wrong,” grumped Margi. “Madi’s told us that Cortie’s with Cal-raven.”

Wynn stood up, crossing his arms and scowling down at them. “Don’t.”

“We’re going in,” said Luci. “You can’t get past that guard.”

“Who?” Margi glared at the guard, who raised his eyes to them as if they were filthy mice. “That big lunk? He usually guards a bakery. And when nobody’s lookin’, he steals the bread himself.”

“Watch that talk, rodent!” the guard bellowed. “I’ll pull out your tongue and feed it to the fishes.”

“Just try and catch us.” Margi turned up her nose and pointed at him, defiant. “We’ll be past you before you can take a step.”

The guard glanced left, right, then slowly stood and rolled up his sleeves. “It’s not my usual kind of fun to punish little girls,” he growled.

“Come on, Wynn,” said Luci. “Let’s go before Margi gets us all in trouble.” Then she laughed at the guard. “Clearly this one’s too smart for us.”

Margi let go of Luci’s hand and skipped away, her nose in the air. Luci waited for Wynn. He wouldn’t take her hand, so she sighed and rolled her
eyes and skipped off after Margi. Wynn ambled behind them, curious to know where they were leading him as they took the next cargo tunnel, the unguarded one, and disappeared into the dark.

“What,” he asked quietly as he ventured into its shadow, “are we doing?” He paused. The corridor was quiet. In the faintest trace of light from the dock, he could see Luci smiling. Margi, meanwhile, was pressing her hands against the tunnel wall. “Oh,” he said.

And so they stepped through the wall and into the tunnel behind the guard. He was holding a seashell to his ear and had forgotten all about them.

Margi looked at him triumphantly. But Luci grabbed her by the back of her shirt and pulled her away. “No,” she whispered. “He’ll chase us.”

“Will he?” Margi asked loudly, and the guard spun and dropped the shell, which shattered on the boards at his feet.

“You!” the guard roared.

“Before you even take a step,” Margi laughed.

The guard charged into the corridor, picking up his spear. As he ran toward her, Margi knelt down and touched the stone floor. The guard stumbled, his spear flying forward and skidding along the ground past Margi, finally stopping at Wynn’s feet. The floor of the tunnel had melted beneath him, and as soon as he fell, Margi stood up, turned, and walked away. The stone solidified, leaving the guard stuck there on his knees, breathless with astonishment.

“Come on,” said Wynn, picking up the spear. “He’ll bring trouble.”

“But trouble will be too late.” Margi stood up, brushing her hands clean. “Madi told us. She’s with the Northchildren now, and she says—”

Shush!
came the thought into her head, sharp and clear as a shard of glass.

“Shush!” said Luci aloud.

I’ve told you more than I meant to
.

“What?” asked Wynn, confounded. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” said Margi. “Let’s go.”

They hurried up the corridor, until they came to the torchlit crossroads. Luci was giddy with excitement, and Margi had to admit that she, too, felt a thrill at being directed by a voice from somewhere beyond sight and sound.

“Which way now?” asked Wynn. “And where are we going? How do you know what to do?”

“I don’t,” said Margi. “I just…I just know that something’s happening. Witnesses are gathering.” She turned to Luci. “Up, forward, or down?”

“Witnesses to what?”

Boys
, thought Margi.
Why do they always need to have the answers?
“I think Madi wants us to go down,” said Luci. “I feel something about it.”

The sisters hurried, close together, down the steep, damp tunnel. Wynn lagged behind. “Scared?” Luci asked him.

“Course not,” he snorted. “Remember, I led you on our last adventure. And it was more dangerous than this.”

“No,” said Luci. “No, it wasn’t.”

As they came to a deep cave of cold, milky light, they slowed to creep along the wall. They could hear wild animal-like voices and a shrill, harsh response.

“Look,” said Wynn.

The cave was blocked off from a larger, echoing space by a wall of scattered driftwood and seaweed-strewn stones. Chilly light filtered through, and shadows moved past in the grand cavern beyond.

Wynn climbed into the clutter, cautious of slippery branches. The girls climbed up beside him, peering through the jungle of pale grey boughs.

“What’s that smell?”

“Slumberseed oil,” Wynn whispered. “Try not to breathe too much.” Now they could see that the driftwood formed a ring almost all the way around the high-ceilinged cavern. Below the driftwood ring, water pooled, shallow and strewn with debris.

In the water, a long vessel with a bulky hull and a flat deck leaned on its side as if waiting for water to rise and right it. Slots for oars lined the sides, but there were no windows.

Whoever rides in there
, Margi thought,
is being punished
.