Chapter Forty #2
Mouth hanging open in shock, Silas turned to look at the man standing on the captain’s right, his hand tentatively reached out as if he would forcefully lower her arm if she didn’t stand down on her own. “Cal?”
The missing Head of the Merchant’s Guild grimaced as he locked eyes with Silas. “Hello, Your Majesty. I’m sorry about my rather late and … unorthodox arrival.”
“This is King Silas Meris?” the captain demanded.
“He is,” Griselda barked, “and if you don’t want to be executed for attempted regicide, you’ll put the weapon down. Now.”
The captain finally lowered the crossbow while her crew slowly lowered their swords.
“Well fuck me under the moonlight, this is probably the worst first impression I’ve ever made.
” She sauntered down the ramp and held her hand out to Silas.
“Captain Moira Rhosyn of The Queen’s Garden.
I’m here to help you with your traitor problem. ”
Silas needed somewhere private to speak with Captain Moira, so he guided the captain and a few members of her crew to the council chambers. Lord Pryce and Felicity were inside, bent over their respective paperwork.
“I need the room,” Silas announced with no further explanation.
Felicity immediately stood and gathered her notes, curtseying to Silas. She didn’t quite make it out the door before she did a double-take, gaping at Silas’ damp clothes and the towel hanging around his shoulders.
“I’ll explain later,” he murmured, shooing her off.
She left reluctantly, her eyes lingering on Captain Moira and her crew until the door closed behind her.
Lord Pryce was a little slower, taking his time to finish writing something. When he finally looked up, his eyes briefly scanned Silas before turning his attention to the sailors. “Cal?”
“Hello, Pryce,” Cal replied, bowing his head to the lord.
Pryce arched an eyebrow. “From the way His Majesty spoke of your … absence, we weren’t sure you would return.”
Cal’s lips twitched, halfway between a smile and a grimace. “An understandable assumption that I’m happy to disavow.”
“What’s with the vocab lesson, Calico?” The sailor Silas had mistaken for Emmaline’s captor slid their arm across Cal’s shoulders. “You never talk this fancy on the ship.”
Cal shrugged his shoulders until the arm slid away. “And you always need to be the center of attention, Echo. Can’t I catch up with an old acquaintance without you butting in?”
“Nope.” Echo sauntered forward and took one of the empty chairs, leaning back in it so that the front legs didn’t touch the ground.
Their demeanor reminded Silas so much of Penn that it sent an ache through his chest.
“You clearly have important matters to discuss,” Pryce said, nodding to Silas. Before he left, he glanced one more time at Cal, his brow furrowed as if he didn’t know what to make of the adviser’s sudden reappearance.
He wasn’t the only one. Silas still didn’t quite understand how Cal had ended up in a rough group of sailors, but he hoped to soon find out.
Once the door closed, Emmaline grabbed Silas’ hands, her hazel eyes watering. “Mama and Penn are in danger.”
Silas’ heart lurched at the news. Light-headed, he sat in the closest chair, and Emmaline followed him down. The only reason she didn’t fall onto the ground was because Echo kicked a chair into place beneath her.
Clutching her hands, Silas demanded, “Tell me what happened.”
Emmaline took a deep breath and launched into her explanation.
“Penn asked us to meet him in Sparrow Hill because something was wrong with Valerian. Mama examined him, then we planned to return to the cottage, but Penn needed to deliver a message to Lord Edgar first. The lord told us he had Niall tied up in his cellar, but he was wrong, it was really a glamour, only we didn’t find that out until later.
Niall drugged all of us and tied us up in the cellar and he killed poor Bern and then Alistair possessed Valerian—”
All of Silas’ muscles tensed at Alistair’s name. Silas held up a hand to cut off her jumbled retelling. “What do you mean Alistair possessed Valerian?”
“I … I don’t know exactly. Niall said Valerian created a connection with Alistair somehow, which would help him escape stasis.”
Silas remembered Valerian’s excitement on finding Alistair’s grimoire, his plan for the mage. “With these spells, I could erase certain memories.”
Alistair’s voice echoed through Silas’ head: “Let me in!” At the time, Silas thought Alistair was trying to break through his own shields. He seemed broken, only half there … what if the other half was busy infiltrating Valerian’s mind?
“When we saw Valerian again,” Emmaline continued, “he was … different. And a voice spoke in my head …”
It took Silas a moment to speak past the fear building within him. “It can’t be Alistair. He’s already dead.” If he’s alive … if even completely destroying his body can’t stop him, can anything? Silas’ hands clutched Emmaline’s until his knuckles turned white but she never pulled away.
Emmaline blinked hard, tears dotting her eyelashes. “I don’t know. Mama told me to run, so I waited at the inn in Sparrow Hill until I could return with a constable, but by then everyone was already gone. I have no idea what happened to them after that.”
“Maybe it’s a matter of timing,” Griselda suggested. She sat at the other end of the table, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Maybe killing Alistair solved the problem.”
As much as Silas wanted to trust her, his instincts screamed like a hare caught in a trap. “No, Adelaide sent those letters after his death.”
Emmaline’s breath caught as hope filled her eyes. “Mama wrote to you? What did she say? Is she safe?”
“The letters didn’t say much, just asked Archer to return home and for me to protect you. But I still don’t understand how Alistair could …”
“Return from the fucking dead?” Griselda finished with a disbelieving sneer.
“It’s like this,” Echo said, picking up one of the nearby pieces of paper and unceremoniously tearing it into three sections.
“These are all parts of the same mage. His body”—Echo held up a large section of the paper—“his mind”—another section—“and his soul”—they held up the last. “Here, you can have this.” They passed Griselda the ‘body.’
Griselda immediately held the paper over the flame in a nearby lamp. The corner caught fire, and she held onto it for as long as possible, allowing the flames to nip at her fingertips before she dropped it into the base of the lamp. “His body is burned to fucking ashes. That’s all that matters.”
“But destroying one piece doesn’t necessarily destroy the whole.” Echo held up the ‘mind’ and the ‘soul.’
Griselda tried to snatch the papers out of their hands, but Echo leaned back in their chair again, holding them out of reach. Snorting, she gave up and settled back into her seat. “Are you implying we won’t be free of the bastard until we destroy all three of them?”
Echo shrugged. “Maybe, or best two out of three?”
“So it’s possible Alistair is still alive,” Silas said, his voice dull despite the sharp fear piercing his heart.
“Alive and scheming,” Moira confirmed, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. “Tell them the rest, Em.”
Emmaline took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father is working with General Varro. We don’t know the full details except that Varro knows where my mother is, and he’s agreed to give her to my father in exchange for his assistance.”
‘Rat bastard’ doesn’t even begin to describe him. “How did you find this out?” Silas asked.
“We saw them meeting together,” Emmaline said, her voice quiet. “I thought my father was going to save Mama, but I didn’t expect him to pay for her safety with people’s lives.”
Silas breathed in deeply through his nose.
He needed to think about this carefully.
Alistair was the largest threat, but there were too many uncertainties.
Was he really alive? Where was he? Were Penn, Adelaide—maybe even Archer—already fighting against him?
But Varro was closer and still had allies imprisoned nearby. “What do you know about Varro’s plans?”
“Not enough,” Moira replied. “But I can tell you all about Everett and his crew. Isn’t that right, Echo?”
Echo scrambled to their feet and saluted Silas. “Former crew member of the Eyolf, Raphael Hackett, at your service.” Then they winked and asked, “Ready?”
Silas’s brow furrowed. “For what?”
“A grand performance.”
Captain Moira sighed. “Echo, you don’t need to—”
“We’re happy to trade the witch and guarantee legitimate trade routes between Bellacosta and our allied kingdoms.” Echo’s lips moved, but Varro’s deep, familiar voice poured from their mouth.
A shiver went down Silas’ spine at the perfect mimicry. A phantom hand closed around his throat as he remembered the last time he’d personally faced Varro, when the general had tried to strangle him.
“In exchange, you will take your ships—all seven of them, Everett, don’t think we’ll be satisfied with half-assed efforts—to Bellacosta’s shores, carrying me and my men.
We’ll attack together, take out that idiotic boy-king, and establish proper order in the kingdom again.
I trust we have your support?” Echo looked at Silas expectantly, as if waiting for a response to their question.
“Sit your ass down,” Moira muttered, grabbing the end of Echo’s shirt and dragging them back into their chair.
Silas cleared his throat, pushing past the imaginary chokehold to ask, “Do we know when or where they plan to attack?”
Echo pursed their lips and confessed, “We were discovered before we could get those details.”
“It would take time to gather his crew,” Moira said. “But I suspect they’ll arrive any day now.”