Scimitar Sun (17 page)

“That’s what worried me!” Camilla said, a splash of wine escaping her glass as she gestured emphatically with her hands. “The count said he was sent to ensure the ‘security of the empire’, and he even went so far as to say that the survival of the empire could hinge on the ships that we develop. But what made me uncomfortable was that it seemed to be
his
priority, a personal interest, not just his job.”

“After losing his family here, I don’t doubt that it was personal. But just how personal?”

“Personal enough ta steal the plans of a cockeyed-lookin’ prototype ship, and convince the emperor that it’s some kind of secret weapon?”

All eyes turned toward Dura.

“Gods, I hope that’s not the case,” Cynthia said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve got enough on my plate already.”

“So, what do we do?” Camilla asked. She was always the composed, focused one, but this discussion — and its location — were wearing on her nerves. What if she had said something to the count, or done something during his visit, that would jeopardize the shipyard and their home here? “If you leave in the morning,
Peggy’s Dream
could probably catch the
Fire Drake
before they reached Tsing.”

“I don’t think chasing after a warship would solve anything, Cammy,” Cynthia said, knitting her brow. “And it might make them more nervous, like we’re flaunting the speed of our ship. Besides, I’ve got to deal with the mer. I hate to think how worked up they got having a warship in their waters. No, I think I’ll draft a few nice, even-tempered letters, put them on the fastest courier boat I can find, and wait for a response. You said the count planned to visit again. I’m betting that when he does, we’ll get this whole mess straightened out. But if I have to genuflect before his Imperial Majesty, he’ll just have to wait until I relieve myself of this.” She patted her bulging stomach.

The joke seemed to clear some of the tension from the air, but Camilla still fretted. She hoped Cynthia was right, and that this whole situation could be defused by a little levity and a few cool heads.

Chapter Eleven

Warm Welcomes

“We usually eat in the great hall, but it’s not like a rule or anything.”

Edan trundled down the stairs after Tim, both of them fresh from baths that had been necessary after their long afternoon of exploring.

“Lots of times Miss Cammy or Mistress Flaxal eat in their rooms, or Dura and Ghelfan are busy down at the shipyards, but we try to. It’s nice to get everyone together.”

“This place isn’t what I expected,” Edan admitted. His afternoon tour had included not only the keep, but the native village, the shipyard, and beyond. Edan had been fascinated by the tar flats, but Flicker had kept him from inspecting them more closely. He had worked hard to keep her away from the combustible goo, which she kept trying to set on fire. Less exciting, and downright nerve-wracking, had been a hike up to the top of the island. From that vantage point, they gazed out over the brilliant blue hues of the sea that surrounded them. The waters were bright turquoise — even white — over the sand flats inshore, intensifying to indigo blue out over the depths. The view made Edan a little queasy, almost like he was back aboard the ship. In the distance to the south, a towering pyre of ash and smoke bespoke the presence of Fire Isle, reminding him of his upcoming trials. During the tour he had managed to put aside those thoughts; now they weighed heavily on his mind.

“What did you expect?” Tim asked as he nudged his companion down the cavernous corridor toward the great hall.

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of talk about the seamage, about what she’s doing. I though the place would be, you know, more fortified, like a stronghold.”

“That’s what it
used
to be like.” Tim grabbed one of the big bronze handles to the double doors and pulled. “I like it this way. It’s more like a home.”

“Welcome, Edan!” The seamage waved to him from her seat at the head of the long table. Scattered down the length of the table, a number of friendly faces called out warm welcomes. Just the same, he felt a little uncomfortable being around so many new people after years of isolation with only the lightkeeper for company. Tim nudged him forward as the seamage waved her hand at the array of chairs.

“Please, have a seat. We don’t stand on ceremony, so anywhere’s fine.”

“Thank you, Mistress Flaxal.” He eyed the empty seats. Tim took a seat between Dura and Chula, so Edan couldn’t sit next to him as he’d planned. There was an empty seat by Paska, but the lack of clothing worn by the natives, especially the women, discomforted him. He spied an empty seat on the far side of the table next to the seamage and blindly headed for it; she had been kind to him on their voyage to the island, and he could at least talk with her about her trials. As he pulled out the chair, he looked up; Camilla sat directly across the table. His heart skipped a beat, and for an instant he thought of sitting elsewhere. Realizing how rude it would seem to change seats now, he slowly sank onto the upholstered chair and hoped desperately that Flicker wouldn’t embarrass him…or that he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“Edan, you know Ghelfan, Paska and Chula and, of course, Tim. I’d like you to meet Dura, Tipos, and Camilla.” Cynthia pointed to each person as she introduced them.

Dura and Tipos nodded to him from their seats down the table, but Camilla smiled and stretched her hand across to him, saying, “Very nice to meet you, Edan.”

His heart raced, and he found his eyes drawn to her lips; his agile mind imagined them murmuring his name under vastly different circumstances. Her hand was as soft as silk, and he hoped his own wasn’t clammy and repulsive to her. He heard himself mutter something vague — he had no idea what. His mind and mouth seemed to be working independently of one another.

“We didn’t get to talk much aboard
Peggy’s Dream
,” the seamage said, snapping his reverie. “I hope you weren’t too bothered by the trip.”

The server brought out plates of leafy greens surrounded by wedges of tropical fruits that Edan didn’t recognize.

“I’d never been on a ship before, Mistress Flaxal,” he said. “I’m not used to being so near the water. It made me a little uncomfortable, but it was better once I was in my cabin.” There was no way he would admit how afraid he’d been, how he’d been unable to think of anything but the endless waves, the fear of water closing in around him.

Shaking off the terrifying images, he tried a bite of a bright orange, fibrous fruit; it was very sweet, but he was unsure about its texture. The lightkeeper’s simple tastes had accustomed him to plainer —  blander — fare.

“Sea travel takes a little while to get used to” the seamage said as she sampled her own salad. “Oh, and please, call me Cynthia.”

“From what I hear, it took longer than that for you, Cyn,” Camilla said with a smile that dazzled Edan. She’d changed her dress from this afternoon, he noted; this one was deep blue, cut low to expose her slim neck and the graceful curve of her collarbones. He tried to concentrate on his salad, and failed. He watched her from lowered eyes as she questioned the seamage. “Didn’t you have quite a rough trip from Southaven to Tsing and back?”

“Only from Southaven to Tsing. I slept the entire return trip, thanks to — ” She stopped suddenly.

In answer to his quizzical look, the seamage simply said, “It’s a long story, and one probably not suited for the dinner table. We’ve got a few weeks before we’re off to Fire Isle, and I’m sure there’ll be time to tell it.” She relinquished her plate to the server, who replaced it with a bowl of soup. “I hope Tim didn’t wear you out today. Did you see everything?”

“I think so. They were busy in the shipyard, so we didn’t go into the building.” He watched Flicker as she flew to the length of her chain and hovered over a candelabrum, playing in the flames. The seamage’s seasprite, he noticed, was peeking out from behind her neck, watching Flicker with fascination.

“Aye, and best ye don’t,” Dura said as she waved her fork in his direction, her broad brow furrowed. “With all the pots of resin and such lyin’ about, that li’l daemon of yers’d set the whole place alight like a tinderbox, fer sure.”

“Oh, I think it would be safe enough, as long as he keeps her on her chain.” The seamage chucked Mouse under the chin, breaking his open-mouthed fixation on Flicker as she fluttered back and forth over the candles, the flames licking at her copper-colored skin.

“It’s unfortunate that you have to keep her restrained,” Camilla said, her voice strangely heavy as her eyes followed the firesprite.

“I used to think that, Miss Camilla,” Edan said, tugging lightly on the thin gold chain, eager to have the woman’s attention. Flicker swooped to his shoulder and turned a neat pirouette on one toe, her mood much improved with her increased body temperature. “I let her go once when I was younger, to give her some freedom. She caught a crate of tallow on fire, and nearly burned down the whole lighthouse.”

Flicker emitted a disdainful “Humph!” and fluttered back to the candelabrum to hover languidly in the flickering flames.

“I asked him why she didn’t just undo the clasp herself,” Tim put in, his eyes alight with excitement. “You’ll never guess! The chain’s magical!”

“Really?” the seamage said with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not really
that
magical. My master put a spell on it so she can’t undo the clasp, that’s all. There’s a little cage in my trunk that has the same spell, but I don’t put her in it much. She doesn’t like it.”

“I can’t blame her,” Camilla said, her tone almost accusatory, though not quite hostile.

Edan suddenly recalled Tim’s account of Camilla as Bloodwind’s slave. He spoke quickly, as if speed could soften the words. “She’s usually pretty happy, as long as there’s a candle or flame around for her to play with.” He nodded to the candelabrum. “The colder she is, the worse her mood.”

“Gods know Mouse has caused enough mischief, but he at least he doesn’t catch things on fire.” The seamage smiled at him and nodded. “I think it’s best if Flicker is kept out of trouble.”

“She doesn’t mean to be bad!” Edan protested earnestly, trying to smooth the lines of concern in Camilla’s brow. “She knows she shouldn’t catch things on fire, but she just can’t help herself. She’d set the whole world on fire if she could.”

“It’s all right, Edan. I just don’t like to see things in chains, even if it’s for their own good.” Camilla’s tone was kind enough, but he could see in her face that, deep down, she really didn’t think it was all right.

It twisted his stomach in knots to think that he had disappointed Camilla. He didn’t know what he could say to make her feel better, so he settled on silence, concentrating on his meal while the conversation drifted to matters that concerned him little. Flicker became even more languid with the heat of the candles and finally settled on his shoulder to sleep, her flaming hair diminishing to a bare smolder. Finally the seasprite ventured out from behind the seamage’s collar, fluttering around the table amid the glasses and plates, snatching bits of food and sips of drink, his eyes often returning to Flicker’s sleeping form.

Edan glanced at Camilla as she gently nudged the seasprite away from her dessert, then sampled the creamy custard. The silver spoon traveled back and forth from the crystal bowl to those perfect lips again and again. Edan could not help but watch, drawn to her movements the way, he imagined, Flicker was drawn to flame.

≈

Dawn found Cynthia standing on the beach of Scimitar Bay, the gentle waves lapping at her ankles. Sleep had come hard, and when it did, she’d dreamt of war: swarming schools of mer scrabbling up the hulls of the emperor’s warships, to be cut down by fire and arrows even as their tridents and lances transfixed sailors and soldiers. She had watched, unable to act, unsure which side she should aid, while her friends — both human and mer — fought and died. Whether the nightmare was a portent sent from Odea or simply a product of her own worried mind, she had no idea. What she did know was that the mer would have many difficult questions for her this morning, and it was her responsibility to appease them and ensure that her nightmare did not become reality.

“Well, there’s no sense putting it off,” she muttered, wading forward.

The sea surrounded her like a loving mother’s arms.

Cynthia willed herself forward, through the channel from Scimitar Bay to the open sea, then south beyond the reef. She usually climbed over the ridge and entered the water at Skull Beach, but the last ten days had been taxing, and climbing over the ridge was becoming more difficult as her pregnancy progressed. Her pregnancy…it had changed everything: her ability to perform even the simplest task, her position with the mer, her relationship with Feldrin. As she cruised out over the reef, now illuminated by the first light of day in a riot of color and motion, she considered yet again whether bearing a child out of wedlock at the behest of the mer was a good idea. She wondered if her father Orin had ever had such difficulty dealing with the mer, and if they had asked him to produce an heir — her. The mer
did
call her Seamage Flaxal’s Heir…Unfortunately, his diary was startlingly bereft of information on the subject of the mer.

Too late to fret about it now
, she thought as she rounded the southern point of the reef and struck out toward Carbuncle Shoal.

A mile into the open sea, she paused and sent out the pulse of sound that announced her arrival to the mer sentries. She glanced down through the blue water, her gaze following the shafts of light that shot into the depths beyond her sight. The water was deep here — a thousand feet or more — and even though she could feel every living thing nearby, she never liked waiting in this position; she felt too vulnerable in the open. She sometimes thought that the mer felt her tremors of unease, and that sometimes they kept her waiting just a little longer than necessary.

Cynthia smiled in relief as the distant clicks of approaching dolphins reached her ears. She reached out her senses and sent out another, softer pulse of welcome as the two shot past her at full speed, banking around hard to circle her, their clicks and pops rattling her ears. They circled closer, more slowly, until their pectoral fins were close enough for her to reach out and grasp. She obliged, gripping one with each outstretched hand. They picked up their pace again, whirling her around in a pirouette. She recognized them as Chaser’s favored charges, and laughed a cloud of bubbles at their antics, releasing her grip when she became dizzy. They spun away in spirals of bubbles, clicking dolphin laughter at her.