Sea of Sighs (Empath Book 2) (22 page)

Eden tugged at his left ear, nervous.
“
Well, I don
’t actually
do
anything. Nothing of any importance, anyway. I do a lot of
listening, and pointing people in the direction of various rooms,
but by in large, Ross was right. This place runs itself. The maids
all know what they’re doing; Renner rules the kitchens without my
interference—and I’d really rather not interfere. Without any
special occasion, like the Spring Ball, there’s nothing for me to
do but sit and listen.”

“That’s an important role too, you know.
Critical, in fact, when it comes to your king asking you advice.
Ross won’t be around forever, Eden, and I need loyal men aware of
what it means to be a part of this court. You’re never going to
inherit Sevenspells, even if I don’t let Shiver rule again. You’re
still a third son, and I’m already setting up matches for Rowan,
with the help of your mother. River, too. They’ll both beget heirs
before you even get a sniff of that title, so think carefully about
where you want to be in the future.

“I will allocate five of my own guardsmen to
you. They will escort you to the port, and will wait in Kahnel for
you to come back with the empath…and Maertn.”

Eden bowed, hiding his scowl at having to
bring back Quinn’
s best friend.
“Yes,
sire.”

* * *

Eden rode out of Everfell the next day with
two spare horses, an armed escort, and enough supplies for them all
to get to Port Kahnel without stopping for anything but sleep. The
king had even given Eden enough gold to seek passage across the Sea
of Sighs four times over, though he was anticipating the return
fare for Maertn and Quinn would be included in that purse. As Eden
began his journey south, and Sammah waited for the circles to close
around him, Quinn was beginning new lessons of her own.

Quinn slid to the
ground, exhausted. The blade slithered from her sweaty palm, making
a dull thud on the sand as it landed flat. She sobbed between
heaving pants, unused to so much physical exertion and mental
effort. Unbidden, the bawl of her tutor, a master in swordcraft
called Tarik, jabbed in her ears.

“Get up, girl. You cannot rest now. Do you
think that you can rest on a battlefield? Do you believe the men of
Everfell are going to stop swinging their swords so that you may
catch your breath?”

“There isn’t going to be a war!” Quinn
yelled at him. They’d had this argument already.

Tarik chortled, “If you think that, then
you’ve been going around with your eyes and ears closed. I thought
you were an empath? You’ve been living with the baron Sammah for
all your life have you not? And you think that we will never have
another war?”

Quinn rolled her tongue around her dry
mouth, looking for any bit of moisture to dampen her parched
throat. There was none, and she knew that Tarik wouldn’t let her
properly rest until the end of the session. The man was practically
a slave-driver, and since Quinn has been passed into his care three
days ago, all she’d known were tears and pain.

“Answer me, girl. Are all men in Everfell
peaceful? None of the lords at all show malice? Not even that cruel
fellow…what is name? Shimmer?”

Quinn was so exhausted, she couldn’t even
giggle at his slip with the lord of Sevenspells’ name. “Shiver. His
name is Shiver, and he’s the Lord of Sevenspells.” Quinn thought
about the disgusting old tyrant briefly. Yes, he’d wanted war, but
none of the others had, not as far as she’d known.

“How influential is he, this Shiver? Are the
other lords weaker than he, likely to follow his lead, yes?”

“Vance is still on the throne.”

Tarik rapped her on the head with his wooden
sparring sword, and Quinn yelped in pain. Her hand darted to the
back of her skull, and she patted at her hair gingerly. She drew
her hand back, inspecting it and expecting to see blood. There was
none, and she was disappointed.

“If you think that he will be on the throne
forever then your are even more foolish than I first thought, girl.
Now, get up. Stop thinking about your next drink. And your next
meal. There are no dinner breaks on the battlefield, girl. Have you
learned nothing from me, yet?”

“You’ve taught me how to be exhausted.”

Tarik grinned, “I like a little courage,
little lioness.” He looked up and down, “And you’re losing some of
baby fat that you had.”

Quinn was indignant. “Baby fat? You’re
mistaking me for someone else.”

“The stories about Everfell, and their
court? I heard they do nothing all day but throw meat and wine down
their throats. Isn’t that true? And you lived there?”

Quinn laughed
impulsively.
“If was one of
those
courtiers, I
wouldn’t even be here. I was Baron Sammah’s adopted daughter. I
spent most of my years in Everfell as a maid. At nights, I cleaned
bedrooms and emptied chamber pots. You’ve probably heard of the
court ladies in their sweeping ostentatious gowns, on the arms of
lords embroidered in finery? At the banquets you mentioned, I was
serving them. You want someone who was overburdened with weight and
self-importance, then you need to send a message to Sammah.”

“Just
Sammah
? Not
even
baron
or
father
? Where’s your sense of loyalty, girl?”

She hated it when Tarik called her
girl
, which was the only name the swordmaster appeared to
have for her. Quinn’s response was venomous. “My sense of loyalty
to Sammah was lost when I found out he wanted to mate with me.”

“Ah yes, but that’
s
understandable
, isn’t it? The baron is an apath, he has no
understanding of the way people react to such things. How can you
hold that against him?”

“Hold it
against
him? If I ever see
him again, I’ll slit his throat!”

“Ah, violence. Of this, I approve, though
your skill with a blade and your lack of upper body strength mean
you’re very unlikely to be slitting throats any time soon, girl.
Pick up a blade. Enough talking, you’ve had your sneaky rest. We’re
going to work on your footwork, which is
appalling
. I could
have my toddlers run circles around you and trip you in the sand
before plunging this sword into your throat.”

Quinn was horrified, but she did believe
Tarik. He was Farn’s weapons master, and had been for three
decades. The man was old, but no one would mistake that for Tarik
being slow. He was trim, lean, and his skin was leathery from the
years he’d spent out in the sun training his students. He hated
war, and Quinn could understand why after so many of his students
had died on the battlefield in the last war. That he’d still be
training children after such heart-breaking loss, was astonishing
to Quinn, until he’d told her that skill with weapons was
his
gift. He would be replaced by another gifted when he
died, but whether he chose to or not, Tarik would teach. His
reasoning was sound; if someone less skilled with the blade were to
teach, then more could die. Quinn picked up a blade.

All they seemed to talk about in Sha’sek was
war, when everyone in Everfell avoided the topic. Quinn wasn't sure
which side to believe now, but the more she heard in Sha’sek, the
more she thought the war was an inevitability.

Quinn found it hard to concentrate as Tarik
resumed their practice. His bawling was never-ending, telling her
to shift her feet to the left, then to the right. Making her pivot,
making sure her shoulders were in line with her leg; taking the
correct stance so should have the right momentum to defend his
swings. She lost balance time and time again, and he slipped in
beneath her defences enough times to make Quinn cry tears of
frustration. As her eyes watered, the stinging blinded her. She
couldn’t counter anything; she threw the sword away in
frustration.

“I can’t do this, Tarik! I’ll never be a
fighter.”

Tarik didn’t stop his swing, and his wooden
sword crashed into her shoulder. Quinn reeled from the blow,
shrieking in pain as she felt the wooden blade crunching her bone.
Even as she collapsed to the sand once more, she knew a bone was
broken. What was he thinking?

Quinn’s howl of pain was enough to bring
people running. Tarik dropped to her side, only looking apologetic
as healers began to work on her. She looked desperately at their
faces for a glance of Maertn, but her best friend wasn’t there.
Neither was Ross. After their brief meeting when she had seen the
council, they had been separated. She had been put under Tarik’s
care, and she was told that Ross was in another building entirely;
she wouldn’t be allowed to see him for some time. Quinn knew that
Maertn was under the tutelage of another master, but she had no
idea where Ross was, and though no one had lied to her about his
wellbeing, she still feared for his safety.

“So, you train me for war, and then what?
Nothing, that’s what. I’ll be able to swing a sword like all of
your other minions, then be kept at the back and used to manipulate
emotions of others, just like Nerren was. You’re wasting your time,
Tarik.”

“What if our lines are broken? What if there
is no defence, and you are left on your own facing a dozen
mercenaries from Everfell? Could you take them all at once with
your abilities? Do you want to be known as the empath that got
taken down screaming without a fight? I may not know you, Quinn,
but I’ve met you. Open your eyes to the world, girl. I know you’re
a fighter. You wouldn’t have survived Sammah if you weren’t.”

Chastised, Quinn glanced up at a healer.
“Nothing is broken. She will be sore for the next few days. Go easy
on this side.”

The healers departed, and Quinn was left in
the training yard again with her master. Tarik was leaning against
a wall, regarding her coolly. The next decision was hers. Quinn
leaned down for a sword. She didn’t realise how weary she was
though, and she stumbled over into the dirt. She stayed, panting,
on her hands and knees, hoping that Tarik would laugh at her. The
swordsman was giving her one-to-one lessons, thankfully, and Quinn
suspected he resented the fact that he was being made to
concentrate on such a poor student. Quinn tried to change the
topic, diverting attention from her so she could rest more. “You
keep mentioning Sammah. What was he like? Did you know him?”

Tarik pushed himself off the wall and sat
cross-legged in front of Quinn, so Quinn adopted the same pose.
“Don’t mistake this for leisure, girl, we’ll be adding this wasted
time on to the end of your session. You understand me?” Quinn
nodded, just glad to be able to get a break for a short time. “I
would love to say that Baron Sammah was a nice man, the kind of
person liked by everyone, and an able fighter. He was none of these
things. I was glad when they sent him away from Farn.”

“Why, was he so terrible?”

“It wasn’t anything he directly did to me.
He was just so rotten compared to everyone else around him, you
know?”

Quinn didn’t know, and shook her head.

Tarik sighed.
“Most students brought to me have some fundamental good in them. I
only get nobles; highborn families, those able to pay my prices.”
Tarik caught Quinn’s jaw dropping, and laughed. “Yes, that includes
you. The Baron Pax himself has paid your tutelage. You think I’d
tolerate your pathetic skills for free? No, girl, you cost twice as
much as a normal student, though I will tell you that for free.
Anyway, this distracts us. You wanted to know about your Sammah?
Know this: Sammah is a vile man. I’m not surprised he was stirring
up war in Everfell. I couldn’t begin to count just how many
feathers he’s managed to ruffle in that court. I wouldn’t be
surprised to see him die at the end of a noose. Don’
t misunderstand me, girl, I don
’t blame him in any
way for being the way he is. Like I said, he’s an apath. He was
born like that. Still, some people take liberties with their
ability, and he is one of them. I’m relieved to say, you’re not one
of them. You haven’t tried once to read me, have you?”

“No, master.”

“And why not?”

“Because I haven’t felt the need to.”

Quinn thought that answer didn’t deserve any
further justification, but Tarik raised his hand, gesturing for her
to carry on. Quinn cleared her throat and continued. “
Well, I
’m just not threatened here. I should be
scared of you, scared of everything around me. I’
m just
…not. When I was younger I used my abilities
when I had no control over them,
and
when I was forced to.
Now that I have the choice, I’d prefer not to.”

“Even if using it meant the difference
between life and death?”

Quinn couldn’t suppress her smirk. “You’re
not going to kill me, master.”

“No, but you’ve freely admitted that you’re
in a strange place and amongst strange people. Just because there
are gifted like you here, don’t assume that you’re safe, girl.
That’s stupid, and is likely to get you killed. The baron is
grateful for you and what you bring to his court, but others aren’t
going to be so accommodating. You’re a threat to their position and
their futures. I would start being a bit looser with that ability
of yours, if it’s not going to drain you. What have you been taught
about it so far?”

Quinn’s hopes perked up. “Can you teach me
about that, too?”

Tarik laughed, and the hollow noise was
tinged with sadness. “No Quinn, I can’t. No one alive can teach you
about what you are. Nerren died at the end of the last war, as I’m
sure you already know.”

Quinn sat back in the sand, deflated. “Is it
true that Nerren is likely to be my father? I’ve been told so many
things, but Sammah’s research said that the empathic ability can
only be passed by heredity. Am I his daughter?”