The Fox (28 page)

Leaving Inda’s crew standing about, everyone exhausted, some stunned, as the morning light strengthened. Fox, Barend, and Dasta had ranged themselves on the lee side of the captain’s deck, blood-spattered and filthy, their weapons in hand.

Everyone waiting for orders—for order.

Inda forced himself to lift his voice. “We’ll build a bonfire tonight to salute our dead. Armorer? We need a sheet on deck, so we can make a proper fire. But first, we can salute ourselves.” They were listening. “We’ll wear ruby hoops. Marking red sail kills. I’ll go first.”

He pulled his sweat-soaked, gore-splashed shirt off, then motioned to Sails, who had brought a needle out. Gold they’d found below, and jewels, the spoils of pleasure yachts: Boruin had had a weakness for gold and glittering stones. On Inda’s order, as soon as he’d boarded the trysail, the armorer (who’d begun as a jewelry-making prentice before a pirate attack had forced him into a new life) had gotten busy banging gold into hoop shapes. No time to smooth them, but the roughness of their make would do. To each he’d affixed one of Boruin’s hoard of rubies, all beautifully cut.

Now Inda sat on an overturned bucket, pulled his blood-crusted hair back, and winced in anticipation. “How much will it hurt?” he asked plaintively.

Mutt stared at Inda’s body with its cuts and scars, blood in his hair, and snickered. The spark of humor spread—as release—as relief, and soon the whole deck laughed.

Sails pinched his earlobe and jabbed the needle through.

“Ow!” Inda yelped.

“Aw, I was fast,” Sails chided in her deep voice, and chuckles rippled through the watching crew. “Here’s the hoop. Pour whiskey or bristic over it each day.”

“Won’t ensorcelled water do?” Inda pleaded. “We pour that over wounds—”

“We’re pirate-fighting pirates,” Tau said, the first to comprehend Inda’s plan to bind them together. He had to sustain the moment, and draw them into a band whose shared enemy was the Brotherhood of Blood. “We’re tough, and when we get to Freeport, we’re going to strut. It has to be firewater.” He kneed Inda off his bucket, sat, and flung back his shoulder-length hair. “I’m next.”

“Then me!” Mutt yelled. “Me!”

“No, me me me me me
me!
” Nugget squealed, bouncing up and down.

“No, I’m next,” Barend snarled, swatting at Mutt who skipped away, crowing with mirth.

“And I follow you,” Fox said, lounging aft, dressed all in black so no blood showed.

They lined up—one, another, then everyone joined.

Inda beckoned to Thog, who stood apart, watching. She turned his way, her small body tense with expectation. In silence they walked into Boruin’s cabin. Inda glanced around in distaste; the silk-covered bed was rumpled and smelled of spilled wine. Weapons with jewels and fine carving along hilts and blades lay everywhere, one knife with blood crusted on it, all of them of little worth to someone who had never paid for anything in her life.

Thog’s upper lip lifted, this time in unmistakable disgust. “I will clean it,” she promised, in Sartoran.

Inda waved a dismissive hand as he stared down into those unblinking black eyes. “Why did you do that, Thog? Didn’t you think the Chwahir would give them justice?”

Thog said, “If they made it ashore they would have been flayed in the public square. By those who know how to make it last.”

Inda pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was too tired to think; he didn’t want this conversation. But instinct prompted him to have it out now.

Thog waited, her hands at her sides.

“I am not going to argue about justice and revenge.” Inda lowered his hands, flexing them. “And I’m not the pug to yammer at you about laws when I’m supposed to have broken them at home, when I’ve got a price on my head in every harbor on the continent. But Thog, if everyone thinks they can ignore my orders for their own purpose, then we really become pirates.”

Thog said, “I will not act so again. I knew that Majarian. He’s the one who fired our village and all the ones along the province where once I lived. He killed children and laughed while he did it. After that, Boruin took him on as mate. And they came back again. With that crew. That time was more terrible because they knew where everything was, including the roads in. So they guarded them. Which gave them more time for what they did.”

Inda expelled his breath. “Are there any more secrets like that you’re going to spring on me?”

“No.” Thog looked down at the deck, then up, unsmiling as always. “I hate the Brotherhood, though not as much as I hated Majarian and those he led. To defeat the Brotherhood I will fight when I am told to fight, I will obey orders, I will not be part of anyone’s disobedience. But defeating them is not a promise I made on my soul. Killing Majarian’s crew was.” She was trembling.

“Fair enough,” Inda said, and tried for lightness. “You made my fox banner. You should get a chance to fight under it.”

Chapter Seventeen

SHENDAN Montredavan-An—permitted from her ancestral lands for this rare trip by special dispensation from the Cassad family—leaped up. "Is that all it says?” she demanded in a hard voice. “About my brother?”

“Yes,” Tdor Marth-Davan said gently.

No one said,
if that even is your brother
.

Shendan ran from the high tower chamber.

The other young women gathered there for Carleas Ndarga’s wedding to the Cassad heir listened to Shendan’s swift steps on the stone stairs outside, but no one moved. They all knew Shen wanted privacy as much as she hated pity.

Tdor, that day arrived from Choraed Elgaer, had to clear her throat, which had tightened in sympathy. She coughed, then resumed reading.

Carleas Ndarga whistled softly. “I do,
do
so hope that’s Barend.”

“Fareas-Iofre thinks it is. And therefore, if Barend is there, the other really must be Shen’s brother, who was aboard the
Cassad
all those years ago, before it was taken by pirates. Anyway, the rest is family news, and so I did not copy it.” Tdor laid the paper gently on the fire, thinking,
Inda, it is your eighteenth Name Day. Please be happy.

Autumn had turned cold and wet, but the round tower at Telyaer, the ancient Cassadas castle, was warm and bright with tapestries made by generations of Cassad women.

There was a contemplative silence, then Shendan Montredavan-An reappeared at the doorway. Her eyes and nose were red, but she was composed again. “Hadand knows?”

Tdor turned her thumb up. “A copy was sent to her.”

Joret sat against the window, the silvery sleet outside a dramatic frame for her glossy black hair and downcast blue eyes. She and Tdor had traveled to the wedding together on the princess’ insistence. It had also been Fareas-Iofre’s suggestion to use the Sierlaef’s own excuse, visiting, as the best way to avoid him. There would be no political trouble if Joret simply wasn’t in Choraed Elgaer when the king’s heir ostensibly arrived to visit, but in reality to stalk Joret.

The two sat in the window seat side by side. Joret’s beauty contrasted with Tdor’s ordinary features. Tdor was tall, gaunt, as shapely, she herself had said wryly, as a plank. Her face was long, her ears stuck out in front of her braids, her coloring was uniformly brown. When she wasn’t seated next to Joret and thus forced into the disadvantage of contrast, what people saw first was her expression, which was keen, kind, honest. Joret was not in the least vain. She was steady, sober, hard-working, and most liked her (with some exceptions inspired entirely by jealousy), but Tdor was loved by everyone who knew her.

Mran Cassad asked, “Is Fareas-Iofre’s sister’s testimony to be trusted?”

“Implicitly,” Tdor said, and Joret turned both palms up.

Mran leaned forward. “And Indevan’s the heir to Choraed Elgaer, now, is he not? Despite the exile?”

“Yes,” Tdor whispered. Joret sent a covert look her way. Tdor stared down at her strong, capable hands, her face pensive.

Joret said, drawing attention away from Tdor, “We must find a way to bring Inda back.”

Shendan saluted them with a glass of hot mulled wine. There was a merry lilt to her voice that no one had heard since the days of their queens’ training, before she found out that her brother Fox’s ship had been captured by pirates. “He was never actually accused of anything, am I right? He just vanished.”

“Yes,” Joret said.

Mran added soberly, “The boys at the academy were told he’d been in disgrace for cheating. For cowardice, even. Though Cherry-Stripe said there hadn’t been any evidence. The Harskialdna had believed some story told by Garid Kepri-Davan, the one they called Kepa Tvei until his brother was killed up north.”

No one said anything against Garid Kepri-Davan—not because they’d liked him, but because he and his entire family had been killed by angry Idayagans shortly after his father became Jarl of the Andahi Pass. Many of them considered it justice, but they didn’t say that, either.

“I can tell you what happened.” Tdor took them by surprise.

Many of them had had brothers and cousins in the academy. A few were betrothed to the very first Tvei class in the academy—the second sons who had been pulled in to be trained with the king’s second son instead of left at home to be trained by their families. The second sons—Randael, or Shield Arm in Iascan—was supposed to defend the Jarl’s lands when he was away either riding the borders or fighting for the king. The Jarl’s wife defended the castle itself, with the Randael’s wife (Randviar) as her second in command and go-between.

So they all knew
something
had happened that summer six years ago, but not what. None of the boys would talk about it afterward—their own fathers forbade them. The Harskialdna’s name was attached to that mystery, which meant it might seem treason to speculate.

“Whipstick Noth told me everything,” Tdor went on. “It was his little brother Kendred—they called him Dogpiss because of his yellow hair—who died. Garid Kepri-Davan lied and said that Inda was going to cheat on one of their war games, and the Noth brother tried to stop him. Actually it was the other way around. They got caught by one of the older boys, who smacked Dogpiss. He fell. Broke his head. His neck as well. For which Inda was unfairly blamed.”

“What?”

“What?”

“How is that possible?”

Tdor leaned forward. “Here’s why nothing was said. Dogpiss Noth apparently was set up by the Sierlaef himself. Dogpiss told Inda just before the accident happened that the heir had cornered him alone. Said they needed something to laugh about. The Noths were known for their practical jokes in those days. Dogpiss loved practical jokes above anything, even above winning the war games. So he was going to pull some prank, only it was against the rules. Inda tried to stop him, so he snuck away and ended up dead. The Harskialdna wouldn’t listen to Inda, was going to cane him in front of the entire academy.”

The girls made noises of disgust.

“This part I know from Hadand. The king asked Captain Sindan to make Inda disappear. There was no proof. The Kepri-Davans were making political trouble and the Harskialdna was set against Inda, but apparently the king believed Inda. Yet—because of the lack of proof—could not publicly gainsay his brother.”

“And so Inda vanished,” Carleas Ndarga said. “Yes, that matches what Rattooth hinted at.” She waved toward the window, and the tower beyond, which was where the younger brother of her husband-to-be lived. He’d been part of that initial Tvei class.

Joret said, “Hadand told us Captain Sindan whisked Inda away to sea but no one was to know.”

Shen leaned back, waving a hand impatiently. “Except Tanrid is dead, the Kepri-Davans are dead, and the Harskialdna is busy with his war. What can they do if that old scandal comes out again?”

“Nothing, except how would it help Inda any? That poor little boy!” one of the Cassad cousins said, wincing.

“I know a way to help Inda.” Mran grinned, her sharp face resembling her aunt Ndara Cassad, wife to the Harskialdna. “We won’t talk about the old scandal. Instead, we’ll spread the news about Inda’s triumphs against pirates, all over the kingdom. Everywhere.”

Tdor gripped her hands tightly together. “How?”

Shendan clasped her arms around her knees and laughed, rocking back and forth. “By pen.” And she laughed again. “Everyone knows we women are always writing letters, and none of the men bother parsing our codes so boring our letters are!”

“Of course they’re boring,” said another cousin, this one popular though she did not have the most penetrating mind. She added quite reasonably, “That way nobody knows what we don’t want told.”

“That’s right, Dnar.” Carleas Ndarga was tall, quiet, much plainer than Tdor, with her heavy chin and close-set eyes, but she was very smart. All the girls admired her. She leaned over to pat Dnar’s hand. “You’re absolutely right. This time, you see, we
want
to spread a secret all over.”