Maelstrom Read online

  Tell no one, her heart said. And her heart was right.

  Goddess help her. No one must know.

  Trevn

  Trevn, Cadoc, and two King’s Guards took a dinghy through the rain to the Seffynaw. Trevn could no longer ignore the evidence in the sky. Even in late midday the dark clouds made it difficult to see. Thankfully they reached the Seffynaw, and as they were hoisted aloft, that alone seemed worthy of praise to Arman.

  When Trevn stepped onto the foredeck, the slant of the wood under his feet from the steep roll of the waves proved the weather had worsened since he’d left Mielle. He wished more than ever that she had returned with him.

  Through their magical bond, he felt her distant answer to his concern. She would be all right. She needed to take care of Shemme’s body. Then she would come.

  Interesting that the distance kept them from hearing each other as vividly as when they were close. Trevn liked being able to communicate with Mielle this way, but he hated knowing that the mantic had put some kind of spell upon them. Why had she done it? What could the woman possibly gain from such a thing?

  This he must puzzle out later. Eager to relay all that had happened with Shemme, the mantic, and Sir Kalenek, Trevn ran all the way to the king’s office. As he went, it pleased him to see the sailors setting up barrels on deck to catch the rainwater.

  When he reached the king’s cabin, the guards at the door bowed and let him in without delay. There Trevn found his brother, standing before the balcony, looking out to sea. Wilek turned at the sound of the door opening and closing and gave Trevn a relieved glare.

  “You are alive. I was beginning to wonder. Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry,” Trevn said. He slipped his marked hand behind his back, not ready to anger his brother further just yet. “I’ve been on the Rafayah. Miss Shemme gave birth, named the child Shanek DanSâr.”

  Wilek winced. “Unfortunate name. Born so soon?”

  “Yes. The child was very large, and Miss Shemme died.”

  Wilek pulled out the chair at their father’s desk and sat down. “Just as they said she would. Did Sir Kalenek arrive in time?”

  “He did. But something else happened. A mantic has been serving Miss Shemme these past few days.”

  This brought Wilek back to his feet. “How?”

  Trevn lifted his hands. “Miss Shemme needed a midwife. She called herself Sonber—”

  “That is Charlon’s surname.”

  “We didn’t know, but Sir Kalenek recognized it right away,” Trevn said, and he went on to tell Wilek the whole story. “The three of them vanished, but the lookout caught sight of them on the open sea.”

  “Did you have them followed?”

  “By the time I was summoned to the main deck, they’d lost sight of the dinghy.”

  Wilek sat down again. “Will Kal kill the babe, I wonder? Or try to escape with it?”

  “Why would he kill it?”

  “Because I told him to—if he thought it necessary. Don’t look at me like that. In Magonian hands that child is a weapon against us. There is nothing to be done now but await word from Kal.”

  Trevn stood in silence, staring at his brother, who was again looking out the balcony window. A surge of pity flashed over him. How thankful he was not to be the Heir and to have to make such decisions.

  “There is more news,” Wilek said, gesturing to a chair across from his. When Trevn sat, Wilek said, “Our brother Janek is dead. By Sir Kalenek’s hand. He confessed it to me.”

  A sickly ache grew in Trevn’s stomach. He recalled the shield’s callous comments about no longer being Armanian. “Sir Kalenek killed Janek? Why?”

  “He found Miss Amala in Janek’s cabin in circumstances that were unrefined.” Wilek went on to explain how Kal had first struck Janek, who had him arrested. How Janek in turn had sent Captain Alpress to kill Kal. And that Kal killed Alpress, then retaliated by killing Janek.

  Trevn stared at Wilek, stunned that Janek was gone forever. Sir Kalenek’s strange comments and bruised face all made sense now. “Sir Kalenek said you sent him to the Rafayah.”

  Wilek’s eyes became hard and glassy. “That stays between us. I did what I had to.”

  “Sir Kalenek is your friend.”

  “The very best,” Wilek said, voice wavering. “But he is ill. I did not understand just how deep his madness went. When I saw what he did to Janek . . . Master Jhorn tried to warn me. If only I had understood.”

  “What?”

  “That Kal’s pain unchecked could eventually hurt someone.” Wilek sighed. He looked older to Trevn, and very tired. “Kal’s life is now dedicated to keeping Janek’s child from causing mischief. That I feel he can do well. You and I must prepare Janek for last rites and shipping. You are now the Second Arm of Armania. I need your help.”

  “But the child. What of Shanek DanSâr?”

  “That child is a stray, who cannot inherit the throne. And rumor has spread that our father had Shemme killed. No one knows about the child but me, you, Mielle, Kal, Jhorn, and Zeroah.”

  “And all of Magonia in a very short time,” Trevn said.

  Wilek rubbed his hands over his face. “Leave Magonia to Kal.” A pause. “Now, tell me what you’ve done, Trevn. I have seen the mark you’ve been hiding on your hand. Assure me it is not what I fear.”

  Trevn fingered the red impression on his palm. “I didn’t know what it was at first. The midwife wanted to give us a blessing. In taking care of Miss Shemme, she and Mielle had become close. I saw no reason to refuse. I didn’t find out until today that the midwife was Charlon Sonber.”

  “Did you learn nothing from my pain? And why would a near stranger have reason to give you a blessing? Did that not seem suspicious?”

  Trevn’s cheeks tingled as a horrifying realization settled into his mind. From the moment he had stepped foot on the Rafayah, Charlon had been there. Was that why he had been so adamant and eager to marry Mielle?

  “Trevn? Answer me.”

  He lifted his head and met his brother’s reprimanding gaze. “I think Charlon put a compulsion on me,” he confessed, and the words brought heavy grief. “The moment I saw Miss Mielle, I knew I had to marry her without delay.”

  “Marry her!”

  Trevn cringed. “Thinking back, that doesn’t sound very much like me.”

  “Doesn’t it? Eloping to marry someone without your father’s blessing or approval? Sounds to me like something a Renegade would do.”

  “Well, yes, but that’s not why I did it. I only knew that I must. There was no logic to it. Cadoc, Captain Stockton, even Miss Mielle tried to talk me out of it. But I would not be dissuaded. And when the midwife offered to say a blessing at our wedding, I figured it was a prayer from a friend. Why would the mantic have compelled me to marry Mielle?”

  “Oli says that shadir love mischief. Perhaps Charlon’s shadir wanted to play a trick.”

  “But we are happy.”

  “You and Miss Mielle are. The rest of us are not. You made a promise to me, Trevn, to put the realm before your own happiness. Do not think me callous. I understand how it feels to be compelled and soul-bound. It is terribly invasive. But who you marry was never for you to decide alone. We can try to hide this for now—”

  “I do not wish to hide it!”

  “Hear me out. Our brother is dead. Our father nearly so. If Father recovers, with you now the Second Arm, know that he will demand an annulment.”

  Trevn lifted his chin. “I love Mielle and will not cast her aside no matter what you or Father say. Whether or not a mantic tricked us, we were married by a Rurekan priest on the Rafayah’s main deck in front of more than one hundred witnesses. Don’t you care what I want?”

  “Who spoke to Father on your behalf and garnered his permission for you to court Miss Mielle? I did. Yet you go behind my back and do this.”

  It did seem selfish when put like that. “Against my will! But what’s done is done, and I will not abandon her.”
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  The boat listed steeply to port. Wilek’s inkwell and goblet slid off the desk and crashed to the floor. Trevn crouched and picked them up, grabbing hold of the desk to steady himself.

  “The storm is getting worse,” he said, knowing Mielle wouldn’t be able to return tonight. He recoiled at the idea of being apart from her for so long.

  A knock at the door preceded Dendrick. “Admiral Livina wishes to move the commoners below deck, Your Highness.”

  That bad? Trevn ran from the cabin, ignoring Wilek’s call that he return. He sprinted onto the main deck, splashing through a hand’s depth of water. Sheets of rain poured down like river holes in spring. Trevn caught sight of Rzasa and Nietz pulling on a cable and ran to help.

  “I don’t need any fair-weather sailors on my watch, thanks,” Nietz said.

  Trevn had abandoned his watch without a word. “This you call fair weather?” he asked.

  Nietz didn’t reply, nor did he insist Trevn leave. The crew worked hard and fast, jumping to the orders of the mates. The scupper holes could not drain the deck fast enough. Once they had taken in all the canvas, they set to work on the pumps for what felt like hours until the captain called all hands to the helm.

  “We’ve got a hard squall ahead,” Bussie said. “We’ve done all we can to prepare, so take heart, men, and have a bite and a nip while we can. I’m afraid it’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  The cook from the sailors’ galley had brought up a pot of fish stew and mugs. Each man took a cup. The hot stew seeped down Trevn’s throat, warming him. When he emptied his cup, Nietz filled it with spirits, which warmed his belly more than the stew had and burned his throat and eyes as well. He’d never tasted anything quite so strong.

  By the time they finished their meal and returned to the main deck, it had been totally cleared of commoners.

  “Sands,” Rzasa said. “Looks mighty strange empty like this.”

  It gave Trevn an ominous feeling, but he reminded himself that the people were safe below deck. “That was kind of the captain to feed us,” he said.

  Rzasa chuckled. “Captains often give their crew a nice meal before a bad storm in case we all drown.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Why?” Rzasa asked. “If we’re going to survive, we’ll need the energy an extra meal provides. And if we’re going down anyway, we might as well go down with a full belly and a smile.”

  They took another turn at the pumps, then kept out of the way to watch the storm and help where needed. The rain didn’t let up. Screaming winds tore at the ship, ripping away anything that had not been tied down. All of the water barrels had tipped over, and Trevn and Rzasa set about lashing them to the rigging to keep them upright. Everywhere Trevn looked, a wall of sea spray obscured his view as the wind and water batted the Seffynaw like a cat toying with an injured moth.

  It got so bad that Trevn gave up trying to stand and merely clung to the ratlines as the violent waves rocked him to and fro. He could not see the Rafayah. He could not see any of the rest of the fleet.

  “Mielle!” Trevn yelled into the storm, barely hearing himself as the wind swallowed his words.

  Someone tugged on his arm. Rzasa.

  “Nietz says we’re needed in the forward hold!” he hollered. “Cargo is loose!”

  Trevn nodded, and he and Rzasa waded toward the companionway. They passed the commoners lining the stairs and descended into the depths of the ship. Beneath the deck the sounds changed. The cacophony of wind, rain, and splashing sea traded itself for the creaks, knocks, and rattles of a ship under stress.

  The farther down they went, the louder the ship’s groaning became. They reached a group of sailors at the compartment in the fore hold. Nietz stood in the entrance, holding a lantern aloft. In the dim light Trevn saw a knot of furniture. Thrones, beds, longchairs, tables, and sideboards had been lashed around an iron shrine to Barthos. Several smaller wicker or wood pieces had broken free and tumbled back and forth with the ship’s motion. Each time the Barthos shrine slid across the full length of the compartment, it reduced some small wooden chair or table to kindling and sent tremors through the bulkhead.

  “Can’t we just leave it?” Rzasa asked.

  “If it slides too fast, it might crack the hull,” Nietz said.

  So the crew did their best to lash the loose furniture back to the shrine, wedging pieces of broken lumber in as supports whenever they could. As soon as they secured one, a new tilt of the ship nearly broke apart their work.

  They needed to get the shrine out of the way. If only they could lift it.

  “Rzasa,” Trevn said, seized with an idea. “Fetch me several hammocks. If we can lift the shrine into its own bed, then it will rock instead of crashing against the bulkheads.”

  “Put the shrine to bed?” Rzasa asked. “Are you crazy?”

  “It might work,” Nietz said. “Get the hammocks, Rzasa. At least three of them.”

  “Four,” Trevn said. “One to hold each corner.”

  Rzasa was back in no time with the hammocks, and the group set to work. The shrine was too heavy to lift to get the hammocks underneath, so they looped ropes to the lashings and through the beams on the deck head to hoist it. The shrine continued to slide about, repeatedly destroying their efforts and forcing them to start again. Recognizing the importance of speed, Trevn laid out the hammocks on the floor with the rope eyes facing outward. Hopefully the moment the men raised the shrine, Trevn and Rzasa could slide the hammocks under in one unit.

  “We’re ready,” Nietz yelled. “Once we get it up, you boys move the hammocks. You set?”

  Trevn nodded at Rzasa, who said, “We’re set.”

  “Heave!” Nietz yelled.

  The men grunted, and the shrine lifted up off the floor.

  “Go, go!” Nietz yelled.

  Trevn and Rzasa each grabbed an end and slid the hammocks underneath the shrine.

  When the web of ropes was in position, Trevn let go and yelled, “Done!” But one of his rope eyes flipped around and landed under the shrine.

  “Lower it slowly,” Nietz yelled.

  “Wait!” Trevn fell to his stomach and reached for the eye, grabbing it.

  Too late. The shrine fell on his hand and arm, shooting a spasm of agony through the limb. He screamed.

  “Lift it up!” Rzasa yelled. “It’s on Sâr Trevn’s arm!”

  “Heave!” Nietz yelled. “Back up!”

  The shrine rose again. Trevn tried to move but could not. Bonds and Rzasa grabbed him. Dragged him back. Trevn ignored the throbbing pain and kept his eyes fixed on the tangle of hammocks.

  “Get the eye!” he yelled, pointing at it with his other hand.

  Rzasa lunged over Trevn’s head and snagged the eye, held tight. “I’ve got it.”

  “Set it down,” Nietz yelled.

  Once the shrine sat on the hammocks, the men swarmed, making quick work of lashing the eyes of all four hammocks together and hoisting the bundle up.

  A swell tipped the ship to starboard, sliding a pile of debris toward Trevn. Someone grabbed him and pulled him out into the lengthway just before the debris barreled past.

  Nietz squatted before him. “How’s that hand, Boots?”

  Trevn glanced down and let out a pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His fingers looked like sausages, his hand like a blown-up pig’s bladder. Just past his wrist the skin had ripped apart in a jagged line, leaving a gash where it had pulled away from itself and shifted, revealing tendons and pulsing veins along his wrist. He couldn’t feel his hand. Just a cold burning. And lightheadedness.

  “Sands, that’s a nasty evil,” Rzasa said.

  Trevn looked up to Rzasa. He felt a single trickle of sweat run down his temple to his jaw. Then his world went black.

  Grayson

  Kateen shoved a bowl of fish and stale bread through the slot at the bottom of the cell door. “You cannot hide the truth from us, boy.”

  When he d
idn’t answer, she stalked away, muttering about fools.

  I see you. I see you. I seeeeee you, a shadir crooned as it drifted just far enough through the wooden door to show its three bulging eyes. The thick door presented no hindrance to a creature of the Veil.

  Grayson pretended he could not hear or see the shadir. He was so hungry he scarfed down his meal, barely chewing before he swallowed. The shadir cackled and made slurping sounds. It soared in and out of Grayson’s cell, a stroke of blurred yellow that almost looked like light in the darkness.

  Come with me, boy, the shadir sang. Come into the Veil, where you can be free. Come, come, come with me.

  Grayson ignored it, though he cringed each time it passed through his body. Once he’d licked the fishy juices from the bowl and his fingers, and there was nothing left to do but sit and feel the lump of food in his belly, he began to realize several things.

  First, he was growing. It always happened slowly, like an ache in the back that needed a good stretch. They must have put evenroot in his food. He’d been so hungry he hadn’t even tasted it.

  Second, they meant to trick him. They’d sent the shadir to watch him. Grayson could push into the Veil and walk through the door, go hide. But the shadir would see. It would follow him. Call its companions to tell the Chieftess where he was, and she would use her magic to control him.

  So Grayson pretended to be normal. A normal boy locked in a cell would call for help, so Grayson yelled and shook the door, pounded his fists on it, then got down on the floor and reached one arm out the food slot, feeling his way up the door as if he might find the latch. All the while he could tell that his hand was nowhere near the lock.

  He didn’t like his bigger body. Getting down on the floor was harder than it used to be. His arm was thicker, and the narrow slot pinched and scraped his skin. After a while he sat against the wall, listening for rats and brushing his fingers along the downy hair that had grown on his jaw. He fought back tears. Crying was something a boy would do, and he had told the Chieftess he was a man. If he cried, the shadir would see and tell. So he slammed his feet against the opposite wall, sending all his frustrations into each kick.