Chapter 29
29
K ANTHE PACED IN front of the steaming wingketch. The ship’s tethers creaked under the strain, matching his own tension. The palace gongs had also fallen ominously silent. He groaned with exasperation.
It didn’t help that Symon kept looking at the moon as it drifted across the opening above. The man had given them until the sounding of the next bell before he would force them to depart.
For the thousandth time, Kanthe glanced at the shadowy door into the palace.
Where are you both?
Off to the side, Rami stood with his arms crossed, his face turned to stone. Loryn kept near the prince. The Chaaen’s expression was far easier to read, shifting between fury and terror.
A trio of swordsmen guarded over the pair; the others had gone aboard to prep for a quick departure. Most of the men had doffed their helmets and veils, revealing faces raw and scarred. They appeared to be a hard lot, showing no humor, only a barely constrained anger.
They likely wanted out of here.
And I’m holding them back.
The ringing of the dawn bell made Kanthe jump. It clanged across the palace and extended out into the city. Kanthe turned to Symon, who stared apologetically back at him.
No…
Rami stiffened, unfolded his arms, and pointed. “Look!”
Kanthe swung around. From the dark doorway, figures spilled into the stone well, rushing headlong. They all wore byor-ga robes but quickly stripped off their headgear. Kanthe searched the ash-stained faces until he spotted Frell and Pratik.
He ran over to meet them but stumbled when a small-framed woman shoved to the front, tossing her headgear aside. With a shock, he recognized her.
Guildmaster Llyra…
Kanthe blinked as he caught his balance. He remembered Symon saying there was someone trying to help Frell. At the time, he had thought the man meant Pratik, but that clearly was not the case.
Llyra noted him, too, and offered a mocking bow. “Prince Kanthe.”
She then swept past him, shouting orders to the others.
Kanthe reached Frell and grasped him in a hug. He tried to do the same with Pratik but was gently rebuffed.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Kanthe said.
“We shared that same sentiment,” Pratik said.
Together again, they followed the last of Llyra’s crew, who had begun shedding their robes. Kanthe collected Rami and Loryn on the way to the ship.
Rami stared back at the discarded byor-ga garb. “If I ever become emperor, my first order will be to change the policy of dress. It’s clearly a liability.”
“Keep moving!” Symon shouted, herding them to the ship. “We can wait no longer.”
They obeyed and clambered up the ramp. Symon stopped at its foot and craned his neck, staring skyward, where a column of fresh smoke marred the blue sky. His expression darkened as he backed away from the ramp.
Kanthe called from the hatchway, “Are you not coming with us?”
“No.” He waved dismissively. “I have other matters to attend. I’ll leave you all to the tender graces of Llyra hy March.”
“But—”
“Fear not, young prince. I’m sure our paths will cross again.” His eyes glinted with a bit of sly amusement. “No doubt you’ll all throw yourselves into a boiling pot before long.”
Kanthe couldn’t argue with that.
Symon turned and headed away with a pair of companions. They all donned their headgear, ready to vanish into obscurity.
Frell gripped Kanthe’s arm and drew him back, allowing a thick-shouldered crewman to winch the ramp up. “The others headed up to the wheelhouse. We should join them.”
Kanthe nodded and followed the alchymist through the packed lower hold and over to a flight of narrow stairs that headed up.
From his study of wingketch schematics, he knew the steps led to a narrow tween-deck that contained a few private quarters, a small cookery, and a large bunkroom that filled the stern. But most of that level was consumed by the wheelhouse at the bow. Above all that stretched a flat open deck, shadowed by its tapered balloon.
Eager to see it all himself, he hurried up the steep staircase. At the top, he hauled himself into the bustle of the wheelhouse. Llyra huddled with a group of men. Rami and Loryn stood to the side, under the watchful eye of only a single guard now, who kept a palm resting on the pommel of a sword.
The ship’s captain turned from the large wheel as Kanthe joined them. “Welcome to the Quisl. ” She waved to encompass the ship. “While we stole this ketch for this venture, I’ve taken it upon myself to give her a name. In Rhysian, it means roughly Poisoned Dagger. So best watch your step.”
She tempered this veiled threat with a smile. She was a long-legged woman in Klashean black leather, but her features were snowy, nearly silvery, with ice-blue eyes. He suspected she must hail from the far-off Archipelago of Rhys, near the southernmost turn of the Crown. This was further supported by the smooth fall of black hair tied in a long tail and braided through with tiny silver bells. He knew little about the Rhysians, except it was a matriarchal society renowned for its assassins.
Even the crew who flanked her, manning the maneuvering cranks and levers, were all women, as was the ketch’s young navigator. They all bore the same complexion and dark hair.
The captain nodded to him, while not ringing a single bell in her braid.
Kanthe suppressed a shiver.
It was said that a Rhysian assassin could move unseen and unheard, even when adorned with those silvery chimes. The only warning of your death was said to be the quiet tinkle of a single bell announcing your end.
Her smile broadened, amused, perhaps sensing his discomfort. “You’re the last aboard. Come forward if you like and watch us depart. It’s quite the show.”
Put at ease by her welcoming manner, Kanthe accepted her offer. He crossed to one of the giant curved windows. The alchymy to craft such large domes of strong glass was a guarded secret among Klasheans. As he drew close, it felt like stepping toward open air. The window curved high to show the sky and low to reveal what lay under the ship’s bow. It was unnerving.
He swallowed and backed a step.
The captain bellowed, while leaning over to cast her voice through the highhorn to the rest of the ship, “Hold fast! We’re off!”
She pulled a lever, while gripping the wheel with her other hand.
Small pops released the tethers. The ropes fell away from the hull. Free now, the ship shot upward. The four flashburn engines roared in unison, casting flames and smoke below the keel. The ship blasted skyward.
Thrown by the sudden acceleration, Kanthe fell forward, landing his palms against the window. For a terrible moment, he thought he’d fall out, but the glass held. He watched the stone walls blur past the ship’s prow.
Then they were out of the shadowy well and into the open air. The brightness blinded. Still, he spotted a column of fiery ash and smoke churning upward from the center of a walled garden. Before he could study it further, wings unfurled on either side of the hull, catching the air. The ship angled away, sweeping quickly over the palace towers.
Other ketches dotted the sky, circling on their wings or whisking away. The earlier gongs must have panicked enough of the imri, the richest among them, who sought to escape and seek safer harbors until the danger subsided.
Kanthe smiled, appreciating Symon’s plan. The other ships offered the perfect cover for their flight, one ketch among many.
The captain called to him, her voice teasing, “If you get handprints on my glass, you’ll be cleaning all my windows.”
“Sorry.” Kanthe pushed off the glass, collected himself, and retreated toward the others, who were gathered at the back of the wheelhouse.
As he joined them, a noise drew his attention to a closet next to the navigation station where the ship’s maps were stored. The others looked that way, too. Something kicked against the door from inside, accompanied by muffled cries.
Llyra squeezed past Kanthe. “Looks like someone is awake.”
The guildmaster pulled the door open. A figure was folded on the floor, bound and gagged. Kanthe stepped closer and looked down in horror, recognizing the face, the raw fury.
Aalia…
“Your betrothed proved to be quite the lioness,” Llyra said.
Kanthe swung toward Rami. “I didn’t know.”
Rami’s eyes were huge, his face darkening. His fingers ran to his wrists, likely searching for knives that were missing.
Kanthe remembered Symon’s statement from before, when Kanthe had asked Rami to come with them. Symon had claimed they hadn’t needed a hostage. Kanthe understood now.
Because they already had one.
Llyra waved at Aalia. “Extra insurance. We may need it.” She shrugged. “And if not, she’ll fetch a generous ransom.”
Kanthe breathed hard. He had asked Rami to trust him. He reached for his friend’s arm. “I truly didn’t know.”
Rami backed away, shunning him. “This is a mistake you all will regret.”
Kanthe dropped his hand. He could only watch as Aalia was freed. Even with the gag removed, she remained darkly quiet, glaring at him. Her silence was far worse than any curse or slight. She, along with Rami and Loryn, was led out of the wheelhouse to be confined in one of the private quarters.
Frell sighed and patted Kanthe on the shoulder.
Pratik simply looked grim, as if he agreed with Rami’s earlier assessment.
Frell turned to Llyra, his voice somber and serious as he moved on to a more pressing matter. “What is the word out of Hálendii?”
Llyra gazed across the wheelhouse toward the open sky. “You’re all not as clever as you think,” she said. “Not by half.”
Frell nodded. “King Toranth clearly knows we’re here. And that Kanthe is betrothed to a Klashean princess.”
“He certainly does, but that’s not all he knows.”
“What do you mean?”
She turned back to them. “Word is that a Hálendiian battle group was sent off into the Frozen Wastes two months ago.”
Kanthe winced, understanding what this meant.
Llyra confirmed it. “The king… and worse, that fekking Shrive Wryth… must know Nyx is out in the Wastes somewhere.”