Tempest (13 page)

“He's not a foreigner,” Nichol frowned. “Colm is family.”

“Aye, but it's not as though he's grown up in Caithmor, is it?” Jaime pointed out. “And you said yourself that he's the bastard of a man who wasn't even your blood relative, so—”

“That's not what I said!” Nichol shouted, and by then Colm had had enough. He stood up, consciously using his height to his advantage for once.

“Thank you for the education,” Colm said dryly, then turned and left the taproom. He heard furtive whispering behind him but didn't bother to look back, just kept moving until he was through the kitchen, through the courtyard and all the way upstairs in his room. Their room. The room he shared with Nichol, who was one of his only friends. Not so good a friend as Colm had hoped, but he could deal with that. He had dealt with things like that for his whole life. He just needed a moment alone.

Colm was denied the time he wanted to collect himself, because not a minute had passed before he heard the quick tread of Nichol coming up the stairs. “Colm?” he called from the landing.

Colm didn't reply. He wasn't sure what would come out of his mouth if he tried. The silence didn't stop Nichol, but he at least had the decency to knock before coming into the room. He looked worried. “Colm, don't listen to Jaime, especially not when he's been drinking. It turns him into even more of a prick than usual.” When Colm still didn't say anything, Nichol shifted on his feet. “I didn't say that about you. I told him about your father, of course, but I never called you a bastard. I wouldn't.”

“You don't have to go to any special lengths to defend me,” Colm said, hoping his voice was as calm as he was desperately trying for. “I understand that I'm not a part of your group. I wouldn't want to be, honestly,” he added.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Nichol demanded. “I mean, yes, I can see why you wouldn't want to spend much time with the lads when they're really just complete idiots, but that doesn't mean you aren't my friend, Colm. You and I, we're friends.”

“Why?” Colm asked. “What is it that makes us friends? Is it your sense of duty? Because if it is, I happily relieve you of any responsibility for me. I can make my own way here now, although I appreciate the help you gave me in the beginning.”

“Of course it's not a, a bloody
duty
,” Nichol spluttered. “You're my friend because you're
kind
, and you're interesting, and you can do things that none of those idiots can do. You're like a pool of calm in my life, and you listen to me prattle on and on, and you laugh at my jokes and, Colm, of
course
you're my friend. Aren't I yours?”

“Of course you are,” Colm said immediately. “You're my only friend here, and one of only a few I've ever had.” He supposed Fergus and Marley counted as friends, even now. “Megg is wonderful, but it's different with her. I suppose that makes me very inexperienced at being a friend, compared to you. I'm sorry if I'm doing something wrong,” he sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. He saw what might be compassion but was more likely pity in Nichol's face and looked away.

“Colm.
Colm
.” Nichol reached out and took his hands. “You're a great friend. Those lads, I can laugh and jest with them, but it's different. Even with Jaime, it's different. With you, I can actually speak about things that have some meaning beyond the navy, or girls, or a life at sea. With them, we're at our best when we're all looking to the future, and to the lives we hope to have. With you, I feel like I can be happy right now, in the present. That's a rare thing.” Nichol let go and stepped back a bit, rolling his shoulders and regaining the bit of his composure he'd let go of for that speech.

Colm, for once, knew exactly what to do. “Are you going back out with them tonight?”

“Nah, think I'll leave them to it.” Nichol grinned widely. “Care to see the city by moonlight?”

“I've seen it already, usually at some ungodly hour of the morning,” Colm reminded him.

“Yeah, but you haven't had a view. Wait a moment.” Nichol grasped his trunk and moved it up onto the cot, which creaked ominously. “Don't worry, it won't collapse! Hasn't yet, at any rate.” He stood up on the cot, then onto the trunk and raised his arms until his hands touched the skylight. He unlatched it and swung it down into the room, then grasped the edges of the frame.

“I expect you to catch me if I fall,” Nichol warned playfully, then hauled himself up and through the ceiling in a single swift movement. He pulled his legs out, then looked down at Colm. “Come on, your turn. It should be even easier for you, you're so damn tall.”

“You want me to join you on the roof?” Colm asked skeptically. “Why the roof?”

“Where better to get a view of the city from than somewhere high? Come on, you can't be afraid of heights. You grew up in the White Spires.”

“That doesn't mean I
like
heights,” Colm said, but he already knew he was going to do it. Nichol had left his friends behind for Colm tonight, and Colm wasn't going to repay that by balking. He made his way onto the trunk, which swayed dangerously for a moment beneath him before he got his hands on the ceiling.

“Perfect, now up and out,” Nichol encouraged. After a few false starts, Colm finally got his body to move the way it needed to. He got stuck for a moment as his legs tried to fumble their way through the rather small hole, but Nichol grabbed beneath his arms and helped haul him the rest of the way up. “Well done,” he said, his teeth gleaming like silver in the moonlight. “Stand up, take a proper look!”

Colm got to his feet and turned in a slow circle. The Cove was taller than many of the buildings surrounding it, and he had a good view of the rooftops that stretched as far as his eye could follow to the east, into the heart of Caithmor. There was the tall square tower of the royal family, long pennants fluttering at each corner. Not far from there were the spires of the Ardeaglais, glowing with more than the light of the moon as the prayers of the faithful powered the ceremonies of the priests. There were a few other large buildings in sight, none of them as beautiful. Colm thought he could pick out the warehouse where Nichol had bullied his way into getting them a boat.

In the other direction, there were the ships, and at this height, Colm could just see beyond the masts and out to the sea beyond them, glittering like it was trying to shame the stars with its brilliance. Colm stood silent and staring, and after a moment, Nichol stepped close to him, their shoulders bumping as they looked out at the water.

“That's where I'll be someday,” Nichol said softly.

“So you shall.” Colm knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nichol's life would be inextricably tied to the sea. Whether it would happen thanks to the largesse of Jaime Windlove, that Colm wasn't so sure about, but he'd never say as much to Nichol. He just let the moment of confirmation stretch out, comfort given and received, until finally Nichol sighed with satisfaction.

“So. Shall we go house-jumping, then?”

“House-jumping?”

“Yeah, jumping from the roof of one place to the next.” Nichol must have seen enough of Colm's shocked expression to understand, because he laughed. “It's not that hard, really. I got all the way to the northern gate once when I was twelve. Almost slipped and broke my neck on a slick bit of roofing, but only the once.”

“I'd really, really rather not,” Colm said, and Nichol gave in gracefully.

“Then we won't. But it's too nice a night to go in yet. Mind if we stay here for a while, make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”

Colm looked down at the slanted roof beneath their feet and raised an eyebrow. “How do you propose we go about it?”

They ended up with Colm straddling the spine of the roof, one leg on either side, with Nichol lying with his head on Colm's thigh and his feet propped against the gutter at the edge. It wasn't perfectly comfortable, but at that moment, Colm wouldn't have traded the weight of Nichol's head on his thigh, or the drowsy, happy look on his face, for anything in the world.

“We still have to teach you to swim,” Nichol murmured, his eyes turned out toward the sea, always toward the sea. “There's this terrific freedom to it… I imagine that fish and birds have an awful lot in common, in their own elements. And I'm sure you'll pick it right up.”

“We'll get to it,” Colm agreed, but honestly, he was in no hurry to learn to swim. As appealing as the water was to him, he still didn't like the idea of immersing himself in it completely.

They spent another quiet, perfect hour out on the roof before Colm had to grab Nichol to keep him from sliding down the roof as he dozed off. After getting back inside, rearranging the room and settling down into his blankets, Colm reflected that he'd never imagined the evening could have turned into something so pleasant after the conversation in the taproom. That Nichol thought those things about him, and that he'd actually had the nerve to say it all… It gave Colm one of the warmest feelings he'd ever experienced. He hoped he was worthy of it, when all was said and done.

Chapter Ten

Colm hadn't thought his good mood could be much compounded, but the next day, the first letter from his family found its way to the Cove. Though he'd been in Caithmor for almost a month, it still wasn't quite long enough for his letters from the city to have made it home, so Baylee must have sent this one while he was still on the road.

Even better, Nichol had declined to go out with the rest of the Sea Guard that morning, instead spending the time helping Megg with the baking and waiting impatiently for Colm to get in from fishing. Once Colm came back, after a profitable but mostly silent day on the water with a Lew Gullfoot who seemed to feel he'd said too much the day before, Nichol was on him in an instant.

“You've news from home!” he said enthusiastically, handing the letter over with a flourish. “And you musn't disappear to read it. You have to share anything interesting with us. It took everything I had to keep Gran from opening it before you got back, so—”

“You terrible lad!” Megg came out of the kitchen and swatted at Nichol's head with a spoon, to the amusement of the regulars who were finishing their lunches. “I did no such thing! You're the one with the sticky fingers who couldn't leave the letter be.”

“You wound me,” Nichol exclaimed as he pressed one hand to his chest and feigned a brief swoon. “You cut me to my heart! I may never recover, Gran.”

“I
will
wound you if you don't stop saying such things about me,” she warned him, but she was smiling when she turned to Colm. “I would like to know anything Desandre has to say, though, as long as you're comfortable sharing it.”

“More than comfortable,” Colm said, handing the letter back to Nichol. “I have as much trouble reading as writing, so if you leave it to me, we could be here all day. You can read it aloud to all of us.”

“Then we'd better get some privacy. Idra, dear,” Megg called out. “I'll be back soon. Mind the loaves for me, will you?”

“Of course, Mistress,” the girl said briskly as she grabbed a tray from the bar full of tankards.

“Lovely.” Megg took off her apron and led the way back to her own little room, getting tea for the three of them and making Colm grab some bread and smoked rock trout on the way, since, as she put it, “I know you gave that old man most of your breakfast, and the gods know you've not bothered to remember lunch yet today.”

“It's how I keep my girlish figure,” Colm told her solemnly as they sat down in Megg's apartment. Hers was two rooms to their one, the bedroom and a tiny sitting room with four chairs and a low table.

“Girlish figure, indeed!” she scoffed, but settled back and poured the tea into three fine porcelain cups, much nicer than the mugs she stocked for the inn. “Go on, then, Nichol, tell us all the news.”

Nichol broke the wax, unfolded the letter and cleared his throat dramatically.

“
My dearest brother,
” he began, affecting a high, feminine voice that sounded nothing like Baylee, but made Colm laugh. “
By the time you get this, I hope you are well situated in Caithmor. It must be so exciting, to live in such a tremendous place. Do take care not to let people cheat you, and make sure you keep your feet dry. I didn't knit you all those socks just for you to forget about them and run around with damp toes.

“Is she your sister or your mother?” Nichol broke character to ask.

“It's good advice,” Megg said firmly. “If you took half as much care with your own feet, my lad, you might never have been troubled by that infection that made all your nails turn green last year.”

Nichol blushed faster than Colm had ever seen him color up before. “Moving right along,” he muttered, and continued in his own voice this time. “
I hope you have many more things to tell me in your next letter. The last one you sent was far too short. Have you found Aunt Megg? Is Nichol the hellion she describes in her own letters?
Oh Gran, really.”

“I also called you a delight,” Megg assured him, sipping her tea. It was a dark citrus-and-spice blend, Megg's favorite, and Colm enjoyed the naturally sweet flavor of it. Nichol completely ignored his own cup.

“Between you and Colm, they'll think I'm the Two incarnate,” Nichol muttered.

“I told them you were immensely helpful,” Colm offered after swallowing a bite of bread.

“Lovely. I'm a helpful hellion.”

“Less pouting, more reading,” Megg said, and Nichol rolled his eyes but got back to it.

“
Merdith and Tellan are insufferable as usual. He can't catch a quarter of what you used to, and claims to all who'll listen that you left the rigging in such a state that he couldn't unravel it for days.
Wait, is that true, Colm?”

“Possibly,” Colm allowed with a little smile.

“Ha!” Nichol turned to his grandmother. “And you call me a hellion!”

“All young men are hellions to some extent,” Megg said. “Although I'm sure this Tellan deserved it.”

“She gives you the benefit of a doubt,” Nichol said with mock disgust. “You've stolen my gran's affections right out from beneath me.”

“I've plenty of affection to go around. Now read, lad.”

“
Merdith is expecting a child now, and she calls for Mama to help her around the house day and night. She's barely far enough along to tell, though, and hardly sick at all. If having a child turns you into a useless lump, then I will certainly never have one myself. I will run away and join you in Caithmor before that.

“
Kels misses you almost as much as I do, I think. He sleeps in your bed now, and he is determined to master the boat. Tellan can't exactly tell him to leave, so Kels spends much of the time that he isn't in school driving Tellan mad. It's great fun to watch.
Oh, I like this cousin.” Nichol grinned.

“The thought of the two of you ever meeting terrifies me,” Colm said. Nichol shook his head.

“No, we'd have you to keep us straight. We might run you ragged, though,” Nichol warned, then kept going. “
Thank you for the mask. Kels has stolen it, and I fear I'll never get it back, so you must send me another one. And it has been two whole weeks since your last letter. You promised me one a week, don't forget. I never do.

“
Mama misses you, but she almost never speaks of you, or Papa. Life here is busy, so I suppose she doesn't want to dwell on sad things that might weigh her down. I don't mind dwelling on you, though. I hope you are well and happy. Your loving sister, Baylee.
”

“Well, that's all pretty good news,” Megg said encouragingly. “A baby on the way is always exciting.”

“Babies are dull, Gran.”

“Babies are anything but dull,” she said with a little shiver. “My babies were right little terrors, and you made them seem like little lambs by comparison.”

“I live to keep your heart strong, Gran,” Nichol said earnestly. “Everything I do is designed to make you tougher, to give you the greatest longevity possible. You'll outlive everyone at this rate.”

Megg smiled, but it looked a bit melancholy to Colm. “I certainly hope not, love.”

There was a knock at the door. “Mistress?” Idra called. “Young Master Windlove's here, and he's asking to speak with the lads. What shall I tell him?”

“We're coming!” Nichol answered for Megg, bounding to his feet and handing the letter over to Colm. “I reckon he's here to apologize,” he said, throwing open the door. “And where do you get off calling me a lad?” he demanded of Idra, who looked unimpressed. “You're only one year older than me! Not even that!”

“You're lucky I don't call you a little boy,” Idra said archly before sweeping back off to the kitchen.

“Wench,” Nichol muttered, quiet enough that Colm was sure that Megg hadn't heard it. “Come on, Colm.” He strode out of the sitting room. After a glance at Megg, who looked lost in her thoughts, Colm followed, tucking the letter away beneath his shirt.

It was a quiet time in the Cove, that odd time between the midday and evening meals when only the dedicated drinkers were still around. By the time Colm got to the taproom, Nichol and Jaime were sitting together at the table by the window, but Jaime noticed as soon as Colm entered and stood up. He started speaking before Colm even got to them.

“I'm sorry for what I said about you,” Jaime said, a bit stiffly, but it sounded genuine enough. “Nichol never described you in such a fashion and neither should I.” He held out his hand. “Will you pardon my poor manners?”

“Of course,” Colm replied automatically, taking Jaime's hand and gripping his wrist tight for a moment before releasing him. Part of him wanted to hold on to the anger that he barely recognized, but a gesture like this on the part of Jaime deserved his acceptance, for Nichol's sake if nothing else.

“That sounded painful, mate,” Nichol chuckled, and Jaime glared down at him, but it was a halfhearted thing.

“Are you over your snit now?” Jaime asked. “Will you come sailing with us tonight? I've got two of the cutters reserved for a race out to the pillar and back, and I'd rather have you on my team than Ollie or Blake.” He glanced over at Colm and bit his lip. “I don't mean to deliberately exclude you,” he added. “It's just that the coast guard's cutters are meant to be sailed by two men at the most, and with Nichol, we'll have just the right number.”

“It's fine,” Colm told him, and it really was.

“Thank you.” Their gazes met, and in that moment, Colm knew exactly what Jaime thought of him, and what they were getting into. Nichol was the flame to which both of them fluttered, and Jaime's confidence in being the favorite recipient of that warmth had been shaken yesterday. This was his version of sharing, a truly gracious effort, and Colm wasn't going to spurn it just to make trouble for Jaime, no matter how much he would prefer to spend more days and nights as the sole focus of Nichol's attentions.

And if Nichol didn't notice, so much the better.

“You'd better go,” Colm encouraged them. That was all it took for Jaime to be out the door.

“Aye, but don't think I'm going to forget that we need to write Baylee back, and soon, or she really might hunt you down,” Nichol said, standing and walking to the door, but backward so he could keep facing Colm as he went. “Get Gullfoot to give you a day off every now and then, by the Four, and then you can come sailing with us one of these days.”

“I'll try,” Colm said, although he really wouldn't. In a way, the mornings he spent with Lew in a state of silence and sensation and hard labor were bright spots in his day, filled with simple activities that he could do so well by now that his mind was left delightfully adrift. “You should hurry, before Jaime gets tired of waiting and chooses Ollie or Blake after all.”

“He won't do that,” Nichol said confidently. “I'm his favorite.” Nevertheless, he turned and rushed out into the late-afternoon sun, and Colm watched him go and thought to himself,
of course you are.

* * * * *

Caithmor became disgustingly hot during the months of summer. In Anneslea, summer had been the season of comfortable warmth, the time of the year when you could wear only one layer of clothes most days, and the dragonflies were so thick in the air that if you stood still for long enough, they would inevitably come to sit on your hand or hair to sunbathe. Summer was a season of celebration in Anneslea, culminating in a harvest festival and dance that often led to numerous spur-of-the-moment marriages, and a general feeling of contentment abounded despite the enormous amount of work that had to happen as well.

Summer in Caithmor was nothing like that. The heat settled down in the city and stayed, and became a bubbling stew of stench and illness. More traders were bringing their wares in, determined to beat the colder weather they'd run into as they crawled like ants back out across the continent. The navy was powering ahead with preparations to mount an assault on the Garnet Isles before the typhoons of autumn came. That meant the docks, which had the briefest respite from the heat thanks to the sea wind, were now inundated with sailors and soldiers whose ships were being resupplied. Fights broke out over the smallest things, and even Vernon started keeping a wooden cudgel beneath the bar, which he used to subdue the more insistent brawlers in the crowd.

Colm had never been more grateful that he had a job that took him out into the water, although even there his privacy was diminishing. Someone had spread the word about his luck with the fish, and now the
Serpent's Tail
was habitually followed by other boats as it made its way out to sea, the captains trying to learn his secrets and cash in on his good fortune.

Sometimes Colm could lose them, and when he couldn't, he was able at least to ignore them. Occasionally it cut into their catch a bit, but as long as the other boats kept a reasonable distance, and they generally did, he didn't care so much. Lew wasn't nearly so sanguine about it.

“If they'd wanted you, they should've taken you when they had the chance,” he grumbled one morning, staring balefully at a trawler about a hundred yards away. “You're my luck, not theirs.”

“You didn't care to take me either, in the beginning,” Colm reminded him, feeling the nets quiver as a school of blue bass tried to make their way through. Blue bass were generally too big for these nets, but they usually caught a few of them, enough to make it worthwhile. The fish were prized for the hearty flavor of their meat and the brilliance of their scales, which some artisans used to make dreamspinners.

“Aye, but I came round, didn't I? Whatever magic method you have is none of their business.”

“It's not magic,” Colm reminded Lew for the hundredth time. It was tiresome, but on this point he felt he couldn't compromise. The city was easier on the subject of magic than Anneslea had been, but not by much. One could speak of it without too much trouble, but to refer to its use nowadays outside of the church was frowned upon, and accusations still carried weight with the courts. “It's just a knack.”