The Pirate of Fathoms Deep (7 page)

"Already sent them, the very moment I knew what had happened. I also sent hawks out to Harkenesten and Sufta to notify everyone you'd been found. I wouldn't be surprised if Master Shemal encountered His Majesty on the road."

If Sarrica had left the palace to join the search, Lesto was going to fucking kill him. Slowly. With his bare hands. "He'd better not."

"We all know you're never that lucky, Commander."

"Tell me something I want to hear before I demote you for being a pain in my ass," Lesto replied.

Ofera laughed, folded her arms across her chest. "The team that was with you to sort out the ship is downstairs feeling sad and dejected. I have people all over Gearth to start sorting out this damned mess, and they should be sending reports by this evening. My message to His Majesty included the warning that Treya Mencee is up to something. For the moment, we're at the waiting part of everything."

"Wonderful," Lesto muttered.

Dropping her arms, smile widening, Ofera added, "Deputy Commander Jader sent a message to say that if you want to retire, there are better ways to do it."

"Deputy Commander Jader can kiss my ass and had best watch his tone because I haven't handed off authority quite yet."

Mishi snorted as he finally withdrew. He rummaged through his healer bag for a moment then handed over a small twist of powder. "You'll certainly survive to terrorize everyone for a little longer. I don't suppose I can convince you it would be best to stay in bed for another day or two?"

Lesto gave him a withering look.

"That's what I thought," Mishi said, rolling his eyes again. He walked around the bed and poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the table. Dumping the medicine powder in it, he held it out. "Drink it, or I'll pull healer's rank and see your sorry ass is tied to this bed since you won't voluntarily stay in it like a sensible person."

"Says the man who once walked three miles on a broken leg," Lesto retorted.

Mishi packed up his supplies. "Yes, when I was young and stupid. Been stuck with a limp ever since. Drink the damned powder."

Making a face, Lesto nevertheless obeyed, downing the bitter drink quickly and setting the cup down with a hard clack. "Are you finished harassing me now, you old blood drainer?"

"I'll be finished making your life miserable only on the day I die. Stop trying to beat me to it." Mishi squeezed his shoulder, smiled faintly then limped off across the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Lesto turned to Ofera. "Would you get me some clothes?"

Ofera nodded and went over to the wardrobe in the corner opposite the armor and trunk to pull out one of the spare sets of clothes that Lesto always kept there. If he'd learned nothing else in a lifetime of soldiering, much of it commanding, it was to keep clean clothes in as many places as possible.

He slid slowly out of the bed, privately relieved that the medicine was already taking effect and dulling the worst of his pain. Ofera returned with the clothes and helped him dress, and for the first time in several days, Lesto felt like himself again.

Thought it was increasingly a version he'd like to leave behind. He was
tired
of all this—the violence, the pain, the exhaustion, the weight. Long past time he handed over command and enjoyed the rest of his life as a spoiled brat noble.

"Let's go," Lesto said. "I want food, and then I want to hear everything in detail from the moment Shemal brought me here to when I woke up."

"Yes, Commander." Ofera was silent as they left the room, but as they headed downstairs and into the bustle of the main portions of the garrison, she said, "So about you giving Master Shemal—"

"Shut up," Lesto said. "I don't want to hear it. Not a word. I'll throw you and everyone else in this place into the stocks, don't think I won't."

"Yes, Commander," Ofera repeated, and Lesto didn't have to turn around to know she was grinning. "He's very pretty."

Lesto did turn around that time, summoning the glare that normally sent soldiers running, but all it got him was more grinning and a bit of loud, vibrant laughter.

"The whole garrison knows. It would have been obvious to a dead man that's he's sweet on you, and you kept saying his name in your sleep." Ofera said. "You may as well accept it's become general knowledge that the High Commander has been caught—by a pirate no less."

Snapping back around, Lesto resumed heading down the stairs. "Mishi should have mentioned that. It would have convinced me to stay in bed." Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he bellowed for someone to bring food to his office as well as all available reports on the current matter. "I also want to know where the fuck every last Treya Mencee citizen in Harken is living, especially titled and military. If you can drag them in without fuss, do it. If it's going to cause a fuss, try asking nicely first. But I want them hauled in, whatever it takes." When he got confirmations of his orders and had sent soldiers scattering like startled cats, he turned left and swept down the hall to his office.

Shemal was going to be sick. All over his horse. It didn't matter he hadn't eaten for most of a day, and that meal had been little enough. Whatever remained in his stomach was going to come up and splatter the horse and then the soldiers would snicker and cast him even more looks than they already were. He had the sinking feeling they all knew of his feelings for Lesto and were making fun of him. He could understand what the lieutenant said, but the others had such thick Rilien and Tricemorien accents that he'd given up figuring out what they were saying. But he didn't need to understand them to know when he was being made fun of, not when he was an Islander surrounded by imperial soldiers.

Had Lesto woken up yet? Was he all right? They'd said he was on the mend, but something could still go wrong. Shemal was still mad at himself for not better dealing with the mercenaries. He should have been faster. Stronger.
Something
.

He knew damn good and well Lesto could handle himself, that someone less experienced than Lesto wouldn't have lived long enough to worry about poison, but it didn't ease his guilt. If he'd been just a little faster, he might have gotten to those bastards in time to protect Lesto.

Now he was racing up the road as fast as the horses could safely manage in the company of men who kept sharing looks and snickers. Was it really so laughable that he cared about Lesto? Or were they laughing because they knew something he didn't?

But Lesto wasn't the type to take a lover if he already had one, and he'd sworn he had never intended to keep Shemal a secret. Lesto had given Shemal his rings. The imperial ring alone granted alarming amounts of power. But the Fathoms Deep ring… That was infinitely more precious because it was clearly an old ring, an heirloom, and Lesto had trusted it to him.

So let them laugh all they wanted at the stupid, smitten pirate. All their mockery wouldn't take Lesto away. He hoped.

Exhaustion washed over him, but Shemal pushed it back. If he could stay awake for two days straight while a storm tried to tear apart the ship and half the crew was sick, he could stay awake for this. He would deliver his information to the High King, rest, and then return to Lesto as quickly as possible.

How
remained a challenge, since he doubted anyone would care about him once he ceased to be useful, but he'd figure something out. For the moment, he'd focus on the immediate goal: reaching the High King.

But that goal was simple enough, and little effort was required for keeping one eye on the road. It was far too easy for his thoughts to drift back to Lesto, worry and affection whirling about, and under all of that, anxiety about what would happen to him when they finally made it to Harkenesten.

It was easy enough to agree to accompany Lesto there, easy enough to say he wouldn't run…but what was a penniless reformed pirate supposed to do in the imperial palace? A reformed pirate who was also an Islander, the lowest of the low in the eyes of most of the Harken Empire. Would Lesto really still want him once he was surrounded by peers again? Would the High King and Lesto's family even permit the relationship? There must be better prospects awaiting someone as powerful as Lesto.

"Ho, there! Stop in the name of the High King!"

Shemal jerked from his thoughts, looked up to where a cluster of six guards were arrayed across the road. They wore the same uniform as the four men surrounding Shemal, and his group didn't seem alarmed as they drew to a stop.

The man in the center of the new group looked at Shemal. "Are you Master Shemal?"

"Well, I don't think anyone has ever tacked on the 'master' bit, but yes, I'm Shemal."

A smile twitching, the man said, "His Imperial Majesty the High King has arrived at the imperial garrison in Sufta City and bids you come at once to see him there."

"The High King is
here
," said the lieutenant in charge of Shemal's group. "Why in the name of the gods is he here? The Commander is going to skin him alive."

The other man's twitching smile broke into a full grin. "Especially once he hears High Consort Allen came along as well."

"Oh, merciful Pantheon, the Commander is going to kill all of us," muttered the lieutenant, and around them, the others added their own curses and sighs. "All right, let's get moving then. At least now we don't have to ride all the way to Harkenesten. I was not looking forward to that."

The soldiers who'd stopped them all laughed and wheeled their horses around, falling around Shemal. He felt boxed in, just this side of under arrest. "Is there a reason you're caging me? I'm not going to run away."

The man in charge of the second group moved closer to him, extended a hand. "I'm Captain Matameia of the Sufta Imperial Garrison. His Majesty sent me personally to see to your safety. We're not keeping you in; we're keeping everyone else out."

"Oh," Shemal said faintly. "Um. That's not how it usually goes. I'm, uh, Shemal, but I guess you know that. Shemal shey Variago."

"Shey? That's not the bit Farlanders usually use."

Shemal shrugged, scrubbed the back of his head. "You probably know 'frey' and 'vrey.' Those indicate whether you're high or low in your family, more or less. Shey means I stand apart. So my, um, poor standing with the empire doesn't reflect on my family. Anyone who hears shey knows I act without my family's sanction, but I'm not so terrible my family has rejected me."

"Captain, you can pester him later, come on."

Matameia laughed. "Yes, yes, you're right. Let's go, Master Shemal. If a single hair of you is harmed on my watch, the High King will remove all my hair at the neck." He didn't give Shemal a chance to reply, just bellowed the order to move and heeled his horse forward.

And they were off again, racing to beat the wind. But when they came to a split in the road, they headed left, veering toward Sufta instead of taking the road that was a direct line to Harkenesten.

By the time they reached Sufta, night was falling and Shemal was about ten minutes from falling off his horse and sleeping wherever he landed.

Sufta was one of the largest cities in Selemea, and the only powerful city that wasn't also a port. If the High King was already all the way to Sufta, he must have left the moment he knew Lesto was missing and traveled quickly.

Of course, the High King being in Sufta meant that instead of being days away from seeing him, Shemal was only moments. He tried to tamp down on growing panic as they rode through the city gates, a soldier racing ahead of them blowing a horn to clear the streets. Several minutes later, they pounded through the enormous black stone gates of the imperial garrison and came to a halt in a large courtyard half-filled with soldiers and horses.

Shemal dismounted, head ducking against all the eyes he could feel. The last time so many soldiers had looked at him, he'd been getting his release papers stamped. Before that, it was after he'd punched their commander.

Mother Ocean, he hoped none of them recognized him. The imperial army must have tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of soldiers. Surely none of those who'd seen him punch Lesto were here—and it had been a year and half since that day, what were the chances they'd be here
and
recognize him?

Matameia gave him a nudge and Shemal followed him through an archway, past several torches, into the great hall of the garrison. More soldiers stared as they strode briskly through, up a set of stairs at the back and down two short hallways to a set of double doors marked with the imperial griffons. The guards stationed there, a towering man and a short, young woman, saluted Matameia and pulled the doors open.

Shemal wanted to turn and run, but Matameia kept right on going so he had no choice but to follow suit. The doors slammed shut behind them with a terrifying echo.

"Your Majesties, I present Master Shemal," Matameia announced to the two figures sitting at a small table scattered with food and papers.

The one on the left, big and handsome, with scars across his forehead and the left side of his face, and a close-cropped beard, looked up from the papers he was reading. Reputation alone marked him the High King. "Thank you, Captain. You're as reliable as always. You're free to go."

"Yes, Majesty." Matameia saluted and strode out, clapping Shemal on the shoulder as he passed.

The doors opened and closed again. Shemal swallowed, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"So you are Lesto's pirate."

Shemal jerked his head up. How did he already know? "Majesty?"

The High King huffed impatiently. "You're the pirate who rescued him, the one who recognized him and got him away from the kidnappers. If the missives we've received are to be believed."

Oh. Shemal's knees almost gave out in relief. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The High King's eyes narrowed, but all he said was, "Tell us everything from the beginning, so we can hear it in full detail."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Um." Shemal glanced at the other man at the table, who must be High Consort Allen. He was shockingly beautiful, his blond hair swept up in an elegant arrangement of braids and twists, decorated with jeweled birds and flowers. He smiled warmly, something about it relaxing Shemal. "I mean Your Majesties." He cleared his throat, then started his tale. "Several days ago,
late in the afternoon,
two men knocked
on my door. They said they had kidnapped Lord Bestowen
and needed me to watch him while they got their cart fixed.
So I sent them off, already planning to get Lord Bestowen home somehow. But when I removed the blanket covering him, I realized it was Commander Lesto."