The Deepest Ocean (Eden Series) (40 page)

A rill of music thankfully distracted her from that line of speculation. Alyster was seated on the quarterdeck trying out some new composition on his kithar, and Darok seemed to want to stay well out of his brother’s line of sight. Not that it was difficult with the sails in the way; they were great sheets flaunting their spread-winged hawks and filled with the wind. Yerena went with Darok and glanced over the gunwale out of habit, but the pointed fin was nowhere in sight.

Then again, there was no more need of boats and nets. Her shark had recovered, which made the hammerhead keep its distance.

She had no real interest in the hammerhead—she wasn’t linked to it, and Seawatch didn’t permit trainees to be overly familiar with their own sharks, let alone anyone else’s—but she didn’t want it to be hurt either. She touched her shark’s mind to make sure he felt no territoriality or aggression, then turned back to Darok. He stood beside her, close enough that the loose linen of her sleeve could have brushed his arm if the wind had blown from the west, but he hadn’t said anything since they had reached the deck.

“I’m going back to Whetstone,” she said, “because I know what the official story about Quenlin will be. In his last moments he regretted his treachery and sought the forgiveness of the Unity by bringing the megalodon to destroy the enemies of Denalay.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Darok said.

Yerena smiled inwardly. He could startle her, but she also knew how to make him talk to her again. “It’s what Seawatch will want people to believe. I can support or deny the story.”

“I see.” He looked at her as though sizing her up as an opponent—which was, she supposed, how most of Seawatch would treat her. When they sharpened a weapon too well, the blade cut both ways. “Which will you do?”

“Support it, if Seawatch meets my price. I want the training methods in Whetstone changed a little. No more beatings or mandatory sessions in the black room, and at least acknowledge that playing with the sharks can strengthen our links, rather than turning us into laughing-stocks or teaching them bad habits.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “Maybe you could persuade Seawatch to pay its operatives, too.”

“Why not? As long as I’m doing the impossible.”

Darok chuckled, but the amusement vanished from his face in one of those mercurial changes of mood. “Yerena, once you’re in Whetstone, Seawatch will have a great deal more power over you. What if you’re held under lock and key until you come to your senses?”

Yerena had considered the possibility, but it felt good to have someone else concerned about her. Though Darok had always been like that. “It’s legal to discipline children, but not to imprison people once they’ve come of age. Even if Seawatch disregards the law to that extent, I don’t think anyone in Whetstone will want to go in fear of our own training pools.” She tilted her head towards the waves. “They can cage me, but not him.”

“Or me,” Darok said. “If they try anything of the sort, send him to Triton Harbor and I’ll know you’re being held prisoner.”

“I will, but don’t worry. Seawatch may condemn me or ostracize me, but that’s the worst they can do—and I don’t think I’m the only person who wants a few changes.”

“It’s a pity Whetstone’s so shrouded in secrecy. It’d be delightful to watch you shake that guild to its foundations without even raising your voice.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you about it,” Yerena said. “Because I’m going back to Whetstone, but I won’t stay there. I’ll always be a part of Seawatch, but Whetstone isn’t where I want to spend the rest of my life.”

He raised a brow. “So you’re cleaning out the old shell before you find a new home?”

“The one will be easier than the other.” She thought of everything she would leave behind, because while Seawatch wouldn’t let go of her, someone of her compromised standards and questionable loyalty wouldn’t be permitted to enter Whetstone again either. The library, her little room with its soft blankets—Whetstone was far enough underground to be cool at nights—and the training pools surrounded by floors damp with condensation, filled with the echoing sigh of the sea against tunnels.

But even they were small compared to all the ocean, sterile compared to what she could have.

“Seawatch doesn’t usually order its operatives to accompany ships, and now I see why,” she said. “I may never be assigned to another vessel. Not officially, anyway.”

“Do you want to be?” Darok’s voice was carefully neutral, held taut enough that it didn’t sound like a question.

“No.” Yerena’s heart beat so hard she could barely hear her own words. “What I was trying to tell you earlier is, there are matters in Whetstone that I need to take care of, but once that’s finished I’ll be free to do what I want. And I want to be with you.”

He looked at her as though he could never get enough of doing so, and his hand closed around her wrist. A shiver went through her at the touch, warm and strong, roughened at the palm but gentle as if she was made of glass. She would have recognized his hands if she were blind.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be married,” she said, “but if it’s to you, I’ll do it. Is that considered being in love?”

“That just might be the most ardent response anyone’s made to a proposal.” Amusement danced in his eyes, and all the tension melted away in a grin. “Oh, it’ll be fun living with you.”

“Darok, be serious.” Yerena had thought a confession of the deepest emotion, especially coming from a Seawatch operative, would be treated with a little more dignity. Though she kept wanting to laugh too.

He touched her hair in the gesture she remembered so well, guiding a stray lock behind her ear. “The only thing I’m serious about is marrying you and making a home with you on any ship of mine—or anywhere in Denalay, for that matter. As long as it’s close to the sea.”

“Oh, yes.” Yerena put her hand up to hold his, to cup it against her cheek. He knew her. So that was love—both different and the same as the link she’d treasured for most of her life, awareness and understanding and wanting the best for the one who held her heart. “I love you,” she said, and felt herself smile.

Darok bent his head and kissed her, careless of anyone who might see. “Come back from Whetstone soon,” he whispered against her mouth. “Come back to me.”

“I will.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Wherever I am, I will.”

The water murmured and the wind washed into the sails as strong and steadily as an unseen tide, but from nearby a new song rose above the sounds of the ship and the sea.

Then paint a black bird upon your white sail,

And let the wind carry your craft to the shore.

The wise men shall whisper the traveler’s tale

But the traveler himself shall go searching no more.

About the Author

Marian Perera has a Portuguese last name, was born in Sri Lanka, grew up in Dubai, studied in Texas, worked in Iqaluit and lives in Toronto. For now. She studied microbiology and medical laboratory technology, but fell in love with fantasy along the way. She enjoys blogging about writing, publishing and her here-and-there life at
marianperera.blogspot.com
, and loves to hear from readers—send her an email at
[email protected]
. There’s also more about the world of Eden on her website at
www.marianperera.com
.

Look for these titles by Marian Perera

Now Available:

Eden

Before the Storm

Coming Soon:

The Farthest Shore

Whore…gift…and unexpected ally.

Before the Storm

© 2010 Marian Perera

Eden Series, Book 1

In Dagran society, Alex is the lowest of the low—a “mare”, an object to be used by the nobility. When her owner, Stephen Garnath, gifts her to his greatest rival, she begins plotting her path to freedom. Nothing and no one will ever control her again. Not her degrading past, and certainly not her growing attraction to a man reputed to be an even crueler master than Garnath.

Robert Demeresna is instantly suspicious of such a generous gift. Yet she comes to him armed with only her sharp mind—a potent weapon he can use to defend his people from the enemy. And underneath, an unbreakable spirit that besieges the walls of his heart.

Slowly, Robert chips away at Alex’s defenses, striking sparks that make her begin to believe even a lowly whore like her could be worthy of him. Until Garnath springs a trap so cleverly hidden, war is unleashed before either of them sees it coming. A new kind of war fought with steam engines, explosives—and magic with a killing edge…

Warning: Contains violence, steam engines, steamier sex and multiple explosions of the unstable chemical variety.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Before the Storm:

At the end of the passage, Robert was in a window seat, looking down over the crude fortifications, but he turned to see her.

“Come and sit.” He swung his leg off the window seat to make room for her. “Is anything wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.” As fine as it could be under the circumstances. Alex felt awkward, because the window seat was short enough that she would be very close to Robert, but her body had already moved to obey and she seated herself.

“Not everything, or you wouldn’t have come looking for me. What is it?”

Now that Alex was closer, she saw the tired lines on his face and knew he had enough to worry about without her adding to it. But she couldn’t just sit in silence, and the polite meaningless chatter that had come to her so easily in Stephen’s castle was out of place here.

“I agree with Susanna about one thing,” she said. “We can’t win even a war of attrition, and if we flee to the Mistmarch, all Stephen has to do is to cut our supply lines and wait for winter. Then he could walk in and pick the skeletons clean.”

Robert sighed. “We can’t win
any
war, Alex. We don’t have the numbers. The Benevolent Ones favor large armies—I learned that much from my history lessons.”

“So you think we could all die?”

“I think that’s a distinct possibility, but one I’d like to forestall for as long as possible.” He did not look either terrified or bitter, and when he raised an eyebrow, it was an almost teasing gesture. “Is this how you imagined your life might end, fighting a battle with a band of renegades?”

Alex nearly smiled. “Renegade” was not a word she would ever have applied to Robert. “This isn’t too bad. How did you think you would die?”

“Oh, in bed at the age of eighty, with a big family clustered around me, bickering over who got what in my will. And from time to time, I’d hold my breath and stare at the roof, wait a minute and then sit up yelling, ‘Praise the gods, I’m still alive!’ until my family got so tired of it that they would hit me with a poker just to end the farce.”

That time she laughed—it was preposterous and funny and so much what she had come to expect from Robert. For a moment she could forget about the battle and the fact that he would die in the trampled, bloody mud outside Fulmion, if he was lucky.

“You’re a morbid woman,” Robert said, “giggling at a deathbed scene.”

“I don’t giggle.” Alex pretended to be offended. “Young girls may, but ladies do not giggle.”

Robert’s face grew serious. “Ladies also wouldn’t be caught in a window seat with a man to whom they weren’t joined. Did you know that?”

“Yes.” Alex wasn’t sure whether to meet his gaze or to look away. She could take a punch or even a beating, but she felt balanced on a tightrope, and one word from him would push her over.

“I thought you did.” Robert paused. “So why are you really here? Be honest with me, Alex—not only does it save time, but I hate guessing games. I don’t know how you feel about them.”

“I’ve never played.” Alex’s voice was suddenly hoarse, so she cleared her throat and looked at her skirts. It was true, she hadn’t. If a man wanted her, he asked Stephen, and if Stephen had something to gain, she undressed and did whatever was required. She had no idea how to convey her own interest, because she had rarely felt it before, and because it had been quite irrelevant when she did.

I’m making a spectacle of myself
.
I can’t just say out loud that I—that I want him. What if he still thinks I’m a spy, not to be trusted? And why should he be attracted to a mare?

The last word slapped cold sense back into her, because no respectable man would want a woman who had been used by countless other men. She swallowed, composed herself and looked back at Robert.

“Very well, I’ll be honest with you,” she said, her voice as strong as ever. “I think I was a fool to come here, not to mention forward and indelicate. I apologize for disturbing you.” She rose to leave.

Robert took her hand, his fingers closing around her wrist. Alex froze, uncertain whether to pull away or pretend that she hadn’t noticed.

“Sit down, Alex.” She obeyed, but he didn’t release her hand. “Forward and indelicate—what does that mean, exactly? What did you have in mind?”

Robert, don’t do this to me!
She stopped herself blurting that out with an effort of will, and she hoped he couldn’t feel the corresponding rise in her pulse rate. Fine, if there was a battle to be fought, she could start it right now.