Scimitar Sun (20 page)

“Into the fire? You mean Fire Isle? Oh, my holy gods!”

“Exactly, or rather,
unholy
gods, since Phekkar has a less-than-saintly reputation. I don’t think the god of fire will be very tolerant of a supplicant who isn’t fully focused.”

“I…um.” Camilla didn’t know what to say; she’d found Edan’s infatuation a little bothersome — although rather flattering — but really hadn’t thought much of it. She certainly hadn’t thought a schoolboy crush could risk his life. “Do you think I should leave? I could take a trip to Southaven until this blows over.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Cynthia countered. “There must be some way you can discourage him. Maybe wear some of your less flattering gowns, or something.”

“I could start taking etiquette lessons from Dura, I suppose,” she said with a chuckle, drawing a smile from Cynthia. She was glad that the tension had been diffused, but still had no answer. “I’ll think of something, Cyn. Don’t worry. You’ve got enough on your mind.”

“Thanks, Cam. I appreciate it.”

The two said their goodnights and Camilla headed for her own rooms. Dinner had run late, but it was still too early for her to sleep. With Edan’s dilemma in mind, she decided to go through her wardrobe and try some less flattering combinations.

Entering the comfortable main room of her suite, she felt the tension melt out of her muscles. This room, with its comfortably soft chairs, delicate mahogany desk and multiple bookcases, bore little resemblance to the single, spare room that it used to be, her one and only sanctuary in Bloodwind’s keep. That was the reason she had kept it instead of choosing a larger chamber; of all the rooms in the keep, this was the one where the pirate lord had never touched her. She felt safe here.

She passed into her bedroom, a cozy little nook that had been newly hollowed out of the mountain. A light evening breeze blew in from the airy balcony, billowing the gauzy drapes. She lit all four oil lamps and threw open the doors of her expansive wardrobe. Her dresses were her one indulgence, her investment in her own sanity. She had put a large portion of her share of Bloodwind’s horde — more wealth than she ever thought she could spend — into this one extravagance. Cynthia had insisted she take it, arguing that since Camilla had endured the longest and greatest hurt at the pirate lord’s hands, she deserved the reward. Cynthia also paid her a handsome salary for her work, and her dresses were one thing that she could enjoy, one good use for the useless treasure that would have made a king of the man who had made her life a living hell.

She had always loved pretty clothes, even before she had been captured by Bloodwind and despite his insistence that she wear all manner of revealing costumes. Now she bought the best — the finest materials, the prettiest lace, the sheerest silks, and the most luxurious satins — and with her considerable skill as a seamstress, she altered them to her liking.

She ran the back of her hand down the arm-span of shimmering colors, every hue of the rainbow and then some, every design she could dream up, and some she was still experimenting with. With a sigh, she reached behind her and loosened the laces of her gown, performing the contortionist trick that every young girl learned early in life, to wriggle out of the garment without straining the seams or snagging the lace trim. When it finally collapsed in a frothy pile at her feet, she stepped out of it and placed it on the airing rack. Then, of course, there were the three pettiskirts, and lastly her corset…her coat of armor, as it were.

She almost laughed at the notion as the whalebone stays creaked with the laces’ release; the stiff garment could very easily turn a sword stroke. She hung it up and breathed a truly deep breath, her first since donning the restricting garment that morning. She peeled her damp underclothes away from her skin — even in the relatively cool dry season, the humidity was thick enough to cause her to sweat under her dresses. In the torrid wet season, she rarely left the keep and wore her more airy outfits.

The cool evening breeze touched her damp undergarments and they instantly became chill and clammy to the touch. She shuddered and peeled out of the sticky clothes, donning a robe of golden silk. She would take a cool bath before bed, but for now she would pore over her dresses and pick the ones that were the least flattering, her least favorite, her most drab — there weren’t many — and she would try them on with a loosely laced corset, or none at all, and see how they looked. A small price to pay for the life of a poor boy who found her fascinating. The thought brought a thin smile to her lips as she picked out a russet-colored gown with no lace.

She dropped her robe, stood before the mirror and tried the dress on.

≈

Edan took a deep breath, steadied his hands on a tree limb and peered through the telescope that he’d borrowed from Chula’s room. The first mate had said he could use it whenever he liked, though that might not have meant while he was away, and certainly not for this purpose. But Edan would have it back by morning, and no one would know.

He focused the lenses, and his next breath caught in his throat.

The night breeze fluttered the leaves of the tree in which he was perched, a lofty strangler fig on the edge of a game trail above the shipyard. Tim had shown him the trail; it led to some caves on the southern promontory of the island, but from here, before the trail wound around the bend, he could look back and have a good view of the keep — more importantly, of the balconies that had been carved into the cliff face.

Leaves obscured his view for a moment, and he nearly fell craning his neck to see. It was usually hard to make her out through the gauzy draperies, but tonight all of her lamps were lit, not just the one she used for reading. Tonight she was standing before the mirror, holding a gown before her, studying her reflection. Then she dropped the gown on her bed and went to the wardrobe to pick another, and there was nothing obscuring his view at all…

Chapter Thirteen

Rumors, Hearsay and Bald-Faced Lies

The Fire Drake eased up to the Imperial Navy dock with a precision that bespoke her captain’s expertise and her crew’s attention to duty. Count Norris was not impressed; right now he was more concerned with getting to the palace as quickly as he could. After six days aboard, the ship was starting to feel like a floating prison. It had his nerves on edge. He had finished drafting his presentation to the emperor halfway through the trip, leaving him three days to fret.

“Thank you, Captain Altan. I will relate to the emperor your excellent performance on this excursion,” he said as the gangplank touched the
Fire Drake’s
bulwarks. He accepted his hefty satchel from his secretary. “Have my things sent to my townhouse, Huffington. I’ll be going directly to the palace. I might be able to get an audience today.”

“Very well, sir,” his secretary said with a short bow before turning and vanishing down the companionway. The captain merely tipped his peaked hat in acknowledgement and continued giving orders to his crew, paying his guest little attention.

Military types
…Norris thought as he descended the steps to the main deck and across the boarding platform to the dock.
Like most menials, they never show proper respect!
He boarded the waiting carriage, ignoring the servant who snapped the door open, and seated himself with the heavy satchel — his prize — on his lap. “To the palace immediately, driver! And don’t spare the whip!”

The driver’s crop snapped, and the carriage clattered away toward the lofty spires of the imperial palace of Tsing.

≈

“There’s no doubt the woman’s a menace,” Sam said, cooling herself with a lacy fan and sipping her tea. The hot afternoon and the hotter tea had her sweating — memories of airless summer nights sleepless on a netting-draped canopy bed flitted through her mind — but the young courtier she’d tricked into buying her a cup for the pleasure of her company didn’t seem to mind. His attention was fully focused upon the neckline of her bodice. She hoped his ears were as attentive as his eyes. “She’s taken over that pirate lord’s fortress, you know. She did away with him with a flick of her hand.”

“Did she?” he said, one manicured hand lifting his cup, his little finger pointing straight out. The movement summoned another memory — a governess’ etiquette lessons — and she immediately knew she’d been holding her own hand improperly.

“That’s what the captain of one of her very own ships told me.” She corrected her grip and sipped again. “We stopped at that island of hers on our way through the Shattered Islands. Oh, it’s a frightening place! We delivered some barrels of something she uses in her magic. They said that her ships, those
schooners
of hers, are all armed with these frightful catapults that can burn a ship or a whole city with a single shot!”

“That
is
frightful,” he agreed, one eyebrow arching at her claim. “They say she’s quite beautiful, this Seamage of the Shattered Isles.”

“I suppose so, if you like that sort, though I would imagine the sea would leave her awfully wrinkly.” He laughed obligingly at her weak witticism. “She’s certainly wealthy enough, I can tell you that. Bloodwind had amassed a fortune to rival an emperor’s, and she’s using every bit of it to build even more ships! It’s a wonder she doesn’t have a shipload of suitors arriving every day.”

“Ha! I might be tempted to make her an offer myself, but sea voyages don’t agree with my digestion.” He shook a lace handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed his upper lip, then his forehead.

“Oh, I know what you mean; all that rolling about, sailors shouting nautical nonsense at all hours of the day and night.” She fanned herself again and sighed deeply. “I daresay this afternoon heat is oppressive. Is there someplace we might go that is more…shaded?” It really wasn’t that hot by the standards she was used to, and they were already lounging under a frilly umbrella in front of the teahouse, but it was airless, and the unaccustomed stricture of the corset she was wearing had her gasping for breath. Besides, the excuse might move them to someplace more conducive to spreading gossip.

“I generally take my ease in the afternoon. It’s usually too hot for any activity short of sipping an iced drink or playing a hand of Pass the Knight.”

“Oh, do you play cards? I would
love
to learn how to play!” She had no interest whatsoever in cards, of course, but it would be a perfect opportunity to meet others of his ilk.

“I’d be
delighted
to teach you, Miss Samantha. My favorite gaming room is just four blocks up the hill.” He rose and offered her his arm, bowing just enough to be polite — and to inspect her cleavage.

“Oh, that would be lovely!” She rose and accepted his support, stumbling in a way that pressed her breast against his shoulder. “Oh! Excuse me. I’m a bit dizzy with the heat.”

“Perhaps I should summon a carriage.” He raised a hand and let out a piercing whistle, and a nearby hackney pulled over to them. “I’ll have you indoors with a cool beverage in your hand in a trice, lady.”

“Thank you ever so much, Lord Garrett. You’re the perfect gentleman.” She let him help her board the carriage, forcing herself not to flinch when his hand brushed her flank. She turned and smiled at him as she took her seat.

“Oh, come now, lady,” he said with a wry grin as he joined her. “Nobody’s perfect.”

≈

“His Grace, Count Emil Norris, Your Majesty,” the herald bowed.

“Your Majesty.” The harried count bent to one knee, one hand clenched over his heart while the other clutched his satchel. “Thank you for granting me an audience at such short notice.”

“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Emil.” Emperor Tynean Tsing III brushed away his tailor’s fussing hands and turned to examine his reflection in the mirror. “We have about a quarter hour before Our next appointment, so give Us the jist of your report and We will read the rest when We have a moment.” He turned to his tailor and nodded. “That will do nicely, Mikael. See that the princes’ dress uniforms are prepared for this evening.”

The tailor collected his accoutrements, bowed and backed out of the royal presence as Count Norris rose. Two valets approached and removed the emperor’s altered dress coat while the sovereign stood with long-practiced patience. The ever-present royal bodyguard, Lady von Camwynn, stood silently nearby, her arms folded, one palm resting on the hilt of the katana that never left her side. Norris shuddered, remembering the story of that particular blade and its origin.

“Your Majesty, the seamage was away from her stronghold on an excursion to Southaven, and I did not have the opportunity to speak with her personally.”

“That is unfortunate, Emil. Did you get any information about those ships of hers?” The emperor’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Stronghold, did you say?”

The count shrugged. “I know not what else to call a fortified and defensible keep surrounded by a cordon of dangerous coral and defended by a fanatic army of half-naked savages, Majesty.”

“Well, it used to be a pirate stronghold, so We can imagine that it is formidable, but We had not heard that the seamage possessed an
army
. We know that a number of natives had followed her from their home to Plume Isle, but you say they were armed?”

“A great number of natives, Majesty, and they are well armed, women and men alike.” He patted the thick satchel at his side. “And while I did not meet with the seamage and was unable to secure an agreement regarding the schooner designs, I did converse at length with her personal assistant, and made some discoveries that I think Your Majesty will find quite enlightening.” He delved into his satchel, but froze at the metallic hiss of a blade being drawn.

“Have a care, Count Norris,” Lady von Camwynn warned. She had moved between him and the emperor with startling swiftness, the dark blade held before her in an easy two-handed grip.

“I assure you, good paladin,” he said, his eyes drawn to the blade’s dark luster. He would be dead in an instant if he made a single threatening move. “There is naught but paper in this satchel. See for yourself.”