CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN I LEFT UNCLE LUVON’S ranch to hunt my father, I didn’t expect to see hippocamps again except from a distance. They had nothing to do with my purpose and no place in my life as a privateer.
When I saw a hippocamp again, it ruined my life.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Captain’s Log, Mayhem
Captain Fraser Connell
Before Gordon could follow through with whatever plans he had for that dagger, one of his men startled, and took two steps toward the big window in front of me.
“What the... ?” the man scowled through his thick red beard, “sir, I think I saw someone sneaking around outside by the barn. I’m going to go look.” From behind me, the dagger hissed again, back into its sheath.
“Fine. Go take care of it,” Gordon sounded irritated as his man quick-stepped out the door.
“Do you remember what started all this?” I asked him. “That disaster with the prince?” Hopefully, he wouldn’t draw that blade again. It wasn’t just that I wanted to reminisce, I hoped he’d say anything about how he’d found a Cilirian mage.
“You were an idiot,” he came back around to stand in front of me, “and I knew it the second you dove off Skirmisher to save that pathetic ‘camp.”
I grinned, despite my desperate circumstances.
“You always were the only one who could call me that and get away with it.” It was only a twist of my lips though, not an expression of pleasure.
He was doubtless right, then and now but, I didn’t care.
Even after all the years since, that broken hippocamp, and the conditions his kin lived in haunted me.
“Back then, I could always trust you to tell me the truth.” I reminded him, hoping he’d reveal more information. “What changed?”
Gordon gave a slow chuckle, like he’d been waiting for me to ask.
“You’re kidding, right? What changed? You, after that disastrous wedding cruise.
” He pointed one long finger at me. At least he’d put the dagger away, wasn’t going to stab me and be done.
“That should’ve been a simple guard-duty sailing but you had to go and complicate it.
The Earl of Sintane did his best to ensure you could never dock at any Alurenthi port after you nearly drowned his son,” he said, whirling his finger in a slow, downward spiral.
I tsked and shook my head. “How did the earl let his son make such a stupid mistake?” I corrected Gordon. “That’s the real question. It’s not like the bond between nereids and ‘camps is a secret. The earl should’ve known I’d react...badly to his son on an abused hippocamp.”
A real laugh echoed around the nearly empty room. “A bad reaction? Is that what you call nearly killing an Alurenthi peer’s son for the crime of buying a beast?”
“At least the earl still has his son.” I pointed out.
“He very nearly didn’t.” The intervening years dropped away, and I could still see that pathetic hippocamp floundering to keep up in Skirmisher’s wake, while his rider laughed and raised his leather flogger again, and again.
Gordon was right, it should’ve been a simple cruise.
The earl spent the money for my crew to protect his small flotilla of wedding ships because he wanted to flaunt his wealth, not because he truly feared an attack.
I’d reacted out of pure instinct when the earl’s son struck the ‘camp, who was clearly struggling beneath the abuse and layers of spells to compel obedience. There was no bond, no partnership, only spell upon spell to enforce compliance and the perversion of it woke my nereid blood with a vengeance. The memory of that sight overrode my dire predicament; my vision dimmed, and my ears were filled again with the creature’s scream of pain.
The beast roused somewhat when I dove from Skirmisher, perked his ears as I swam toward him, but it was short-lived. Soon enough, he’d once more sagged in his harness, head drooping to float in the water as I’d yanked the youth off his back.
“At least you rescued him.” Gordon seemed to read my mind.
“Three times,” I said. That’s how many times I had to shove the youth under until he told me who sold him the wretched creature: Prince Bartholomew Pulcheria.
“Think he said something about never going near the ocean again when I hauled him back on the wedding barge.” Gordon sounded like his old self, warm with genuine humor that hid a bright, glittering edge.
The tone and tenor of his words struck chords of regret as reality reasserted itself, along with his next revelation.
“I think that was the moment that cracked my loyalty. Watching you give one of Alurenth’s nobles an enormous fuck you,” Gordon said, “and throw away contract after contract to go hunting hippocamp breeders. Quite rash of you.”
His head tilted to the side to deliver a stern glance, as if he were an instructor who’d caught a naughty child.
“Then, your wits left you completely when we got to the prince’s hidden stables.
If you wanted to throw away money, fine, but I wasn’t going to stick around.
When the Cilirian’s emissary approached me, I didn’t hesitate. ”
Gordon was a cold-blooded, ruthless warrior against his enemies but, I’d never seen him be this greedy, without a drop of compassion. If I’d missed that, despite our long friendship, what else did he hide?
“You saw the conditions at the prince’s stables. Honestly what did you expect after you saw what Prince Pulcheria kept hidden away?” I asked.
“I expected you to take him home and let his people deal with him, whether he wanted to or not. Instead you got tangled up in Hastrior’s business and ruined yourself.”
Five years ago...
“Isn’t this an unpleasant complication?” I said in an aside to Gordon. We stood on the beach, looking over our collection of prisoners.
“Staff say he teleportaled in unexpectedly.” Gordon waved in their general direction.
“Why is he gagged?” I nodded at Prince Pulcheria. He was easy enough to recognize, his aquiline nose and aristocratic simper were plastered about Hastrior in posters that praised him and his philanthropic works.
“Because the rest of them know better than to flap their lips and complain when staring down a sword with their hands and feet tied.” A dozen men and women sat on the beach, bound.
Prince Pulcheria bounced in the sand in an effort to attract attention.
I strolled over to him, and Gordon trailed behind.
“Isn’t this unfortunate, your highness?” I meant it.
My intention was to sweep in, overcome the staff, free the hippocamps and vanish with the prince none the wiser till we were gone.
However, the state of the stables, and the nereid youths we found shackled there to keep the ‘camps docile, sealed the prince’s fate.
Prince Bart’s eyes bulged when I approached. I did have somewhat of a reputation. He shouted through the gag, his eyes turning red at the edges.
“Please, Your Highness. I know this is all quite distressing.” I crouched down to eye level with him.
“I’ve some bad news about your little enterprise here.
” He kept yelling, so I paused. Eventually, so did he, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a desperate gasp of air.
He’d gone through all his breath shouting around the gag and now seemed to have a hard time getting it back.
“I’m going to relieve you of your collection of nereid slaves and hippocamps.
” His yelling resumed, and went up a notch.
In the flickering torchlight, his face turned beet red.
“Look, I know. You’ve been quite profitable, I’ve found.
I just can’t allow you to keep doing so.
You understand why.” From the way he paled, I’m sure he picked up on my barely restrained ire.
That anyone would imprison and abuse nereids and hippocamps for money was intolerable, and I wanted to end everyone responsible right then and there. I forced my mind away quickly from the vision I’d seen in the stables, and instead focused on the prince, and his punishment.
“Prince Bartholomew Pulcheria of Hastrior, you have done the unthinkable. What I found—” I couldn’t go on. He recognized my cold, rigid fury, and stilled except for the flaring of his wide nostrils but, for the first time fear crept into his eyes.
“I’m going to give you a choice, Prince Bartholomew.” I’d come to a difficult decision. “And I’m going to make you a promise.” This would be just one of many terrible things I’d done but it was the best I could make of an ugly situation.
“I will take you back to Hastrior. Unharmed.” His frightened gaze lightened with a relief that froze with my next words.
“But I will make sure everyone, from your closest advisors on the city council down to the street-sweeper’s brats, knows exactly what Skirmisher’s crew found in your sick stables. ”
The slim dagger slipped free of its sheath with ease, and his fear turned to terror when I pulled it from where it rested at the small of my back. Beads of sweat rose on his bare forehead when the torchlight reflected off the blade and flashed across his face.
“You imprisoned those nereids, forced them to compel the hippocamps to submit to the staff while your mages piled spell upon spell on them.” It was easy to sound relaxed, dismissive even when he began to shake. My slow, savage smile was a promise.
“You kidnapped and beat them to force them to obey.” I flipped the knife, rolled it back and forth across my palm and through my fingers, the prince’s terrified gaze tracked every twist and turn.
“I’ll cut that gag off, but you have to promise not to yell.” I aimed the dagger’s point at his nose, and his eyes crossed. He nodded, vigorously.
“Hold still, don’t want to cut you,” I warned, in my most gentle voice, and sliced the gag. The ends dropped to his shoulders, and he drew a deep breath. For a moment, I wondered if he would beg, or plead.
“D-don’t be ridiculous. Th-those are hired staff,” Bartholomew insisted, but the stammer gave him away. He was right to be afraid, as the depth of his peril dawned with my revelations.
“How do you think the good people of Hastrior would react if they knew what we found?” I glanced over my shoulder to ask Gordon. He didn’t mince words.
“They’d rend him to pieces. His people already don’t like him despite all his propaganda. There wouldn’t be enough left to cremate and toss to the winds.”
Prince Bart’s florid expression paled and went slack.
“Exactly. What. We found,” I repeated. He squirmed but I refused to let him avoid my stare, to ensure we understood each other.
“I–I–I don’t know...” He gulped, his eyes darted to his people, bound and unable to help him. “You don’t understand. It’s not what you think.”
“You don’t honestly think that tired line works, do you?” I was disappointed and said so.
“Hey... Listen...” Another big swallow. The prince’s complexion took on a distinctly greenish tinge. “I can make you rich.”
I leaned closer, and whispered in his ear, “I’m already rich.” His whimper was sweet but did not ease my rage. I stood, and said, “I haven’t told you your other choice. Don’t you want to hear it?”
He shifted his head from side to side a fraction, too terrified to say no.
I told him anyway.
“You end this, right here, right now.” His jaw went slack. I didn’t stop, just rested my hand on his shoulder; he shook under my grip. “In return, I promise your secret will die here with you. Hastrior need never know, and I’ll make sure she continues to prosper.”
Behind me, Gordon snorted with derision. I couldn’t fathom what he found humorous in my promise. It was almost as if he doubted my word, but that couldn’t be it.
What else does he know about the prince and Hastrior? In the days it took to arrange for cleaning up the prince’s stable, I forgot to ask him.
Present day...
If only I’d recognized Gordon’s treachery then but, I’d been blind with grief and rage in those days. The idea that a Cilirian mage talked my friend into betraying me would’ve been unthinkable.
Have I killed us both? I was caught fast, and my strength was gone. Even with my half-human heritage to sustain me, unless I could get back to the sea soon, I wouldn’t last. Worse, Ozora was dragged into this mess, and now we were both going to end up victims of Gordon and this Cilirian.
The gasp Ozora let out startled all of us, and Gordon sprinted over to her. I strained with all I had left against the ropes that held me fast, and a keen of despair rose in my throat.
But... what was that? I paused, drew in a deep breath.
Before the first drop touched my skin, the scent filled me. Dewy, soft, gentle, but inevitable as the mists at dawn. Sweet, blessed moisture. That heaviness, that thickness to the air that could only mean one thing rolled over me in a wave.
Rain.
Silky curtains drenched me in the next heartbeat, and I soaked it in like a desert in a monsoon.
In an instant, my dried out lungs and cracked skin transformed to lush and supple, and my strength and vitality returned like a flash flood, fast and just as deadly.
Gordon shrieked as I stood; the ropes that held me snapped like threads, and the chair shattered.