The Black King (Book 7) (58 page)

The northern shore wasn’t that far. Lyndred could make out rocks and a muddy bank leading up to the road. That road went into Jahn. If no one helped them, they would be walking for two hours before they got to the palace. She hoped that they would find a way into the city proper that didn’t require much walking.

Saving your strength?
Arianna asked.

Lyndred started. She still wasn’t used to having her most private thoughts overheard.

When Arianna had first entered Lyndred’s mind, Lyndred had felt a strange relief. Then she had realized that the emotion she felt was not her own, but Arianna’s. Arianna had said that she trusted Lyndred, but it wasn’t until she heard Lyndred’s thoughts and felt Lyndred’s emotions that she actually understood why Lyndred was doing this.

Lyndred wondered how it had felt to be inside that stone body. It seemed strange to see it on the
Tashka
, empty, no soul inside it at all. The eyes were open, but they were all one color, like rest of the body.

Lyndred had looked until Arianna made her turn away.

“Not much farther,” Con said.

Lyndred nodded. She reached for the small vial that Skya had given her. Skya, for all she professed to hate Warders ways, had sent one of the Domestics to buy a small bag of supplies when they were in Constant—skin, bone, and blood, stored in a Warder’s pouch. The Warder used those items to practice magick, or to enhance their magick.

Much as she had hated it, Skya had been using the bag to help her with the spells that everyone seemed to require of her. She had given Lyndred a vial of blood, not for magick, but for disguise.

Lyndred pulled off the stopper and winced at the smell. She shuddered at the idea of putting some of that blood on her skin.

Have Dash rip your clothing and put most of it on the fabric, if it bothers you that much,
Arianna said.

Doesn’t it bother you?
Lyndred asked.

It’s not my skin,
Arianna said.

Lyndred took a deep breath, and stuck her finger in the vial. Then she started to put the blood on her face.

“No!” Con said. “That looks painted. Let me.”

He put the oars up and let Dash propel the boat. Then Con took Lyndred’s shirt and tore it down the sleeve. He poured some blood in the rip, sprinkled some on her pants, and then poured some more on his hand.

“What are you doing?” Lyndred asked

Con didn’t answer her. Instead he flung the blood at her. It hit her full in the face. The stench was incredible. She gasped and shrieked and wiped at it with the back of her hand.

“Perfect,” Con said, dipping his dirty hand in the water. “Now it looks like you were near someone who bled all over you, and you tried to get rid of the blood. In an hour or so, that’ll be dry, and you’ll look just right.”

She wasn’t sure she liked his idea of just right, but she didn’t say so. Her skin crawled and she resisted the urge to stick her face in the water, and wash all the blood off.

“Better put on your cloak,” Dash said from the front of the boat.

Con nodded and slipped his cloak on. Lyndred wouldn’t have even known he was there except that the oars were back in the water. She saw the shadow of a figure at the stern, but only because she was looking for it. Otherwise she wouldn’t have noticed at all.

She turned. Dash was putting on his cloak as well. He vanished too, leaving only a filmy shadow of himself as he continued rowing.

The boat scraped against rock.

“You’re going to have to be the one to get out and pull us ashore,” Con whispered. “Just in case anyone sees us.”

“And we won’t be able to give you verbal advice unless we’re absolutely sure we’re alone,” Dash said. “You’re just going to have to trust that we’re beside you.”

More faith. Apparently that was her lesson for this trip.

She got out of the boat, and shuddered as the icy water touched her legs. The river was waist deep here, deeper than she expected. Apparently the boat had hit the rocks up front, not here in the center.

Her skin prickled, then went numb with the cold. Her breeches were so wet that they clung to her. She splashed forward, her boots slipping on the rocks, and she managed to keep one hand on the side of the boat as she walked to the front.

Then she took the pointed bow in her hands and tugged. The boat moved more easily than she expected, and she almost fell. She tugged again, digging her boots in the mud between some of the rocks, and the bottom scraped against rock.

The front part of the boat suddenly got lighter, and there was a splash in the water beside her. Then she felt hands brush hers. Dash had gotten out and was helping her.

There was another splash as Con got out. He sloshed toward the shore quickly, taking his first step in mud. She didn’t see any of this, not really, just a shadowy figure, splashes, and a footprint.

Dash’s hands stopped touching hers and the bottom of the boat slid back into the water. She glanced up. People were coming down the road.

She tugged the boat as hard as she could. She felt the weight of the boat in her back and arms, and she cursed herself for not doing much sword work while she was at the palace. She dragged the boat all the way to the mud, and secured it as best she could. It would probably get stolen, but they had all expected that. Gift had called it a small price to pay for this little ruse.

She staggered up the embankment, slipped again, and slid, landing sideways in the mud. It was cold and slimy and made her feel even worse.

Excellent,
Arianna said.
The worse you look, the more believable your story.

Well, she looked pretty awful. And she felt awful too. Weaker than she wanted to and more inexperienced than she had ever realized.

The people—a pair of Islanders—passed on the road above. They had glanced down once, seen that she was Fey, and continued as if her problems didn’t matter to them.

She supposed they didn’t.

They should,
Arianna said, and Lyndred felt an alien fury.
I’ve worked hard to mix these communities together. How has Rugad managed to ruin that in less than a year?

Lyndred didn’t know, and at the moment, it was the least of her worries. She pulled herself out of the mud and onto the road. Then she wiped her filthy hands against her pants and stood.

She was already tired and thirsty. By the time she reached the palace, she’d be completely exhausted.

She’d have to be. Rugad would see through anything else.

SIXTY-THREE

NANDAR HAD SPOKEN to the other Leaders, and they agreed that they had to make sure the battle plan was clear. They were spreading through the crowd of soldiers, trying to divide them into sections.

Nandar had already spoken to one group. Xihu had listened. He had tried to show them the importance of taking prisoners, but no one seemed to care. They felt that he had no right to change the orders of the Black Queen. Nandar had tried to explain that this was not a change of orders, but they weren’t listening.

Xihu suspected this would happen all up and down the waterfront.

She had slipped away before Nandar had finished. What they needed was a Charmer, someone who could explain and sway. At first she thought of sending to the palace for DiPalmet, and then she realized that he might not even get the message. She would have to deliver it herself.

She was walking along the water’s edge, past the first warehouse, listening to the heightened voices around her, the quarrels that were breaking out as the Leaders were trying to take control.

This wasn’t any Fey army that Xihu recognized. This resembled the rag-tag bands that had fought the Fey. The great Black Rulers would have been ashamed that their people had come to this. Even Xihu was. If this was a highly trained fighting force, they would listen to their Leaders. They wouldn’t think that they knew best. They would be lusting for blood, but the lust would be under control.

Xihu lifted her robe above her boots and hurried a little faster. The quicker she brought DiPalmet here, the better off they would all be.

She felt a chill, suddenly, and smelled damp. The hair rose on the back of her neck. A change in the weather, only this one didn’t feel natural.

Despite her hurry, she stopped and looked behind her. The first tendrils of a thick white fog were reaching toward her. The tendrils came from a fog-bank that hovered near the mountains. The fog was just outside the harbor, and completely hid the river from view.

She felt bile rise in her throat, and she swallowed hard. That had to be the
Tashka
. Gift was coming in a cloud of fog. Had he been warned that there was an army here?

For a moment, she stood in place, feeling completely indecisive. The ship would be here quickly. Soon the army would be enveloped in fog.

Would they be smart enough to realize that the fog hid the ship they were planning to attack? Or would they think it a trick of the weather and disperse?

She hoped it would be the latter, but she couldn’t guarantee it. Maybe the fog would buy her some time. Maybe it would allow her to get to the palace, find DiPalmet, and bring him back. Maybe he would be able to make his speech before these inexperienced soldiers began the mistake of their lives.

That was all she could hope for.

She clutched her robes in both hands and started to run, praying that she and DiPalmet would make it back before the fighting began.

SIXTY-FOUR

GIFT PACED THE DECK. He felt trapped inside the bubble of fog. He wished he could see, and at the same time knew that seeing would compound his problems.

The Navigator said they were heading into the harbor. They had slowed down long before they had let Lyndred, Arianna, Dash and Con off outside of Jahn. The ship would stop soon, and they would all find out if the army outside was fooled by the fog.

The Healers had brought Bridge on deck. He sat near the starboard side railing on a chair that kept his leg outstretched. He was so swaddled in blankets that Gift wondered how he could be comfortable.

Coulter had moved the bags of globes to the starboard side of the ship. He wasn’t pacing. He was standing, hands threaded in front of him, as if keeping their power under control while waiting for the command.

Skya was getting the jewels from below. She had designed three wooden holders, like hand mirrors, only with the jewels in the center instead of glass. She had tied a string to each, measuring a hand’s length. Bridge would hold the diamond and think of shattering walls. Skya would hold the emerald and think of narrowing the beam, and Gift would hold the heartstone and think only of Rugad.

Coulter had suggested using Nyeians, afraid that Gift’s hand on the holder would cause the Blood, but Gift was willing to take the risk. He was gambling on a couple of things: that Skya was correct—the Visions were more manipulation than warning; that the Powers wouldn’t see Rugad as a living being since Rugad was a construct, and, as a construct, wouldn’t be part of the Blood.

If Gift was wrong, he was risking everything. But he wasn’t tied to that construct by Blood. Besides, Coulter was holding the actual weapon, and the weapon was not going to be used to kill anyone—just to destroy an invasive magick. It was exactly this sort of hair-splitting that Rugad used all the time. Gift only hoped it would work for him.

As soon as Skya brought the jewels up, they would be ready. Now all they had to do was wait for Lyndred to send Bridge the signal.

Gift stopped beside Coulter, careful to stay clear of the globes.

“I was wondering,” Coulter said. “Do we need to get rid of the fog to send out this light?”

“I don’t think so,” Gift said, “but the moment we do send out that light, we pinpoint our location.”

“We’re going to need a way to defend ourselves.”

Gift shook his head. “I need you on those globes. There’s no guarantee they’ll work for anyone but an Islander.”

“Then we should have kept Con and Dash here,” Coulter said. “I might be more useful defending us.”

“I don’t think this will take very long. When we’re through, you can drop the globe and defend us until Arianna gives the order to stop the fighting.”

“If she can give that order,” Coulter said.

Gift sighed. He wasn’t going to listen to Coulter’s pessimism. Not now.

Skya left the deckhouse and started across the deck toward them. Her pregnancy was beginning to show. Her stomach, normally flat, was rounded. Her breasts were fuller, and the extra weight she was starting to put on showed in her cheeks. He thought it made her even more beautiful, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t even share his cabin any more, saying that she needed to separate her heart from his.

He had tried to talk with her the night before, but she wouldn’t discuss their relationship. Not until this fight was over.

He wished she had stayed in Constant. Then, at least, he would have known she was safe. Instead, she was risking her life and the baby’s life helping him get rid of Rugad.

She handed him his heartstone. The black gem winked as if it had a life of its own. He held the polished wood handle and shivered.

This was their only chance.

“I don’t know Islander magick,” Skya said, her hand brushing his. “But if it’s anything like Fey magick, you’ll need to take a mental precaution.”

His grip on the handle tightened. “What kind of precaution?”

“Think only of Rugad. If you think of Arianna or of him taking over Arianna or of him looking like Arianna, you risk directing this beam at her.”

“And, by association, Lyndred.”

Skya nodded. “This is very dangerous magick we’re tampering with.”

“I know.”

“Then be careful.” Her dark eyes met his, and in them, he could see concern. But after only a moment, she broke the gaze and headed toward Bridge. Gift supposed she was giving him a similar speech.