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  Torol led them across the deck to the captain’s cabin, which Mreegan had transformed into her version of her red tent. The painted, black-and-white checkered floor had been covered in furs and mats. Her throne sat against the port wall, her bedding before the stern windows. Kateen stood on Mreegan’s right. On her left, Gullik fanned the Chieftess with a yellowed palm leaf. Gullik had become Five after Torol’s promotion.

  Mreegan watched Charlon carefully, did not rise to greet her. “I thought you dead.”

  “With Magon’s help I have succeeded.” She knelt. For now she must. But in her heart, she knelt only to Magon. “I present to you Shanek DanSâr, a child born of Sâr Janek and myself.”

  “Impossible. I left you nearly three months ago. It takes far longer to bring forth a child.”

  “Not with Magon’s help,” Charlon said.

  Mreegan studied the child. Magon appeared in the Veil and drew her attention. The goddess spoke to the Chieftess. Too low for Charlon to hear.

  Please, Charlon’s heart said. Surely Magon would not betray her.

  The Chieftess laughed, delighted, it seemed. “I told you to try for Janek. If you would have listened to me from the start, you would have succeeded long before now.”

  Charlon bowed her head, as if penitent. “You were wise, Chieftess.” But inside, she wondered. Had the Chieftess ordered her death by asking Charlon to conceive the Deliverer? Had she known mothers of root children died? Had she been using Charlon all along?

  Charlon wished she knew for sure.

  Mreegan jutted her chin toward Sir Kalenek. “And this?”

  “He is Sir Kalenek Veroth of Armania,” Charlon said. “Prince Wilek Hadar named him High Shield over Shanek DanSâr. I have taken him as my prisoner. He will prove useful as an instructor for Shanek on Armanian customs.”

  “Why would our Deliverer care about Armanian customs?” Mreegan asked.

  “If he is to rule all nations,” Charlon said, “he will need to be accepted by the Armanian nobility.”

  “He has magic,” Mreegan said. “That is all he will ever need.”

  He is a witness to the child’s royal blood, Magon said from the Veil. Without him no one will believe he is Sâr Janek’s heir.

  “Very well,” Mreegan said. She switched to the Kinsman language. “Come, Sir Kalenek Veroth. Kneel before me.”

  Sir Kalenek stepped forward. “An emissary does not kneel before a foreign ruler, Chieftess,” he said, surprising Charlon by speaking in rough Tennish. “But I am pleased to bow in deference.” This he did. Gallantly.

  Mreegan grunted her displeasure but let his actions pass. “You speak Tennish. How?”

  “Armanian captains are taught Tennish.”

  “You were a soldier. I thought those scars looked like the work of Magonian yeetta warriors. That you survived is proof of your strength. Very well, Sir Kalenek Veroth, I accept you as Guard One to the Deliverer. As a sign of the coming peace between Mother and Father, I will not place you under a compulsion. But know this—you do not decide this child’s future. Is that clear?”

  “I live to serve.” Sir Kalenek bowed his head. Was that his way of pretending? To comply without swearing to? The Chieftess seemed mollified. So Charlon thought on it no more.

  “Four, find our noble prisoner suitable quarters,” the Chieftess said to Torol. “He will need to be near the Mother’s cabin. Sir Kalenek, do speak up if the arrangements bother you. The safety of the Deliverer is our top concern.”

  Sir Kalenek bowed again and followed Torol from the cabin. Charlon watched them go. Wished Mreegan would dismiss her so she could go with them. It was the first time in her life she preferred the company of men.

  “My First,” Mreegan said, “see that the Armanian is followed at all times. I want to know where he goes and who he talks to.”

  “Yes, Chieftess,” Kateen said.

  Charlon wondered how many shadir the First would set upon Sir Kalenek.

  “Bring me the child,” Mreegan said.

  Charlon came forward and placed the bundle in her arms.

  Mreegan grunted as she situated the child awkwardly on her lap. “He seems too large for one so new. When was he born?”

  “Today,” Charlon said.

  “Today?” She looked Charlon over. “Yet you are walking around as if nothing pains you. How did you birth this child and live?”

  “Magon healed me,” Charlon said.

  Mreegan turned to regard Magon in the Veil, but the goddess did not deny Charlon’s claim. Mreegan’s focus fixed back on the child. “Why does he look so strange?”

  “The root makes him grow faster but does not poison him,” Charlon said. “His dappled skin marks him as a root child.”

  Mreegan cackled. “Praise to you, Magon, for bringing this about. We shall all see prophecy fulfilled. To hold the Deliverer in my arms is a great honor.”

  “Excuse me, Chieftess,” Gullik said, stepping forward and kneeling.

  Mreegan did not take her eyes off Shanek. “What do you want?”

  “The Mother mentioned the child’s skin as a mark of a root child. I thought you should know that there is a young man aboard this ship with skin like that.”

  Mreegan’s full attention fell upon Gullik. “How long have you known this?”

  “Several weeks, Chieftess. He is one of the apprentices Nuel hired.”

  “Fool! Bring him to me at once.”

  Gullik stood, hesitating.

  “Why are you still here?” Mreegan asked.

  “The young man . . . He is a slippery one. I am not certain I can bring him here.”

  “You are clever, Gullik. Find a way.”

  “Yes, Chieftess.”

  As Gullik hurried from the cabin, Shanek began to cry. Mreegan held out the child to Charlon. “Take him.”

  Charlon rushed forward to claim the boy. “Could there be another root child?”

  “They are rare,” Mreegan said. “Most women know better than to take root while pregnant.”

  Mreegan had known!

  Charlon settled onto Mreegan’s bed of furs. Nuel had brought a bucket of milk and a gut sack, so Charlon set about feeding the child as she stewed over Mreegan’s deception.

  Eventually the door opened again, and Gullik’s voice carried inside. “The feast is in here,” he said.

  A young man barely of age entered. He had brown skin, nothing like Shanek’s. “Can’t wait to eat. I’m starved,” he said, slowing as his gaze took in the room. “Hey . . .”

  Mreegan stood. “You!”

  The young man vanished, bringing a gasp from those in the cabin. To escape in such a way . . . he must be a mantic!

  A shimmer in the Veil caught her attention. Why, he had not vanished after all. He had only entered the Veil. Was creeping toward the exit. But where was his shadir? Charlon had never seen anyone move like that without a shadir present. How had he—?

  “Atsar!” Mreegan yelled.

  The young man stopped, arms and legs now stilled in full stride.

  “Ra’ah,” Mreegan said.

  The man cried out as he faded into view. His skin no longer looked brown but dappled gray.

  Gullik was right! Here stood another root child—root man. Fully grown.

  Mreegan crossed the room and circled to the front of her captive. “You are the mantic I saw on the deck the day the pirates attacked,” she said. “What is your name?”

  “Grayson.”

  “How came you to this boat?”

  “Got hired in Odarka.”

  “How old are you, Grayson?” Mreegan asked.

  He opened his mouth to answer, then sucked in a long breath and held it.

  “You do not know?”

  “I’m an orphan.”

  “You must have some idea of the years you’ve lived.”

  “Seventeen?”

  “I think you to be closer to ten.”

  “Ten!” Grayson snorted. “I’m not ten, that’s for sure.”

>   Charlon agreed. This man could not be ten years old. Strange that Mreegan would suggest it.

  “You look well past seventeen,” Mreegan said, “but you behave much younger. I think you are of the same ilk as this infant boy.” She gestured to the child in Charlon’s lap.

  “What’s ilk mean?” Grayson asked.

  “It means I think you are a root child,” Mreegan said.

  Grayson flinched at the title. “Never heard of roots having children.”

  Mreegan persisted. “Do you have magical abilities, Grayson?”

  “If I did, why would I clean decks?”

  But he had walked in the Veil without a shadir. Charlon had seen it.

  “Where did you learn to speak Tennish?” Mreegan asked.

  “My parents taught me.”

  “Before they died and orphaned you? Is that what you mean?”

  “Right. Exactly.”

  “I think you’re telling me falsehoods, Grayson. To prove what you are, you will be imprisoned. My shadir will watch over you. And when you walk through the Veil to escape my prison hold, the shadir will tell me that you have done so, proving my point.” Mreegan walked back to her throne. “When you are willing to show me your magic, tell a guard and he will bring you to me.” She sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “Until then, Grayson, enjoy the rats.”

  “This ship is full of rats,” he said. “I’m not afraid of them.”

  “I’m sure you’re very brave. Five, take him to the hold. Carach.”

  The spell holding Grayson in place lifted. He stumbled to catch his balance. Gullik grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the door.

  “Does this mean I don’t have to work?” Grayson asked as he was dragged out. “Is anyone going to bring me food? And what if I get seasick from . . .” His voice faded away.

  “My First,” Mreegan said, “douse his meal with ahvenrood. No more than one spoonful. I want to see if it affects his growth. My guess is not only will he grow, he will not be sick from the poison or require purging to any shadir. If I am proved correct in this, we will know how to proceed with our Deliverer.”

  How fortuitous. Better for Mreegan to test her theories on another than to risk Shanek. “If he can walk in the Veil, how can you be certain he will remain in his cell?” Charlon asked.

  “I’m not certain at all,” Mreegan said. “But he is a child, and I have frightened him. I think he will stay put to prove to me he has no magic. But he does. We all saw that much.”

  Shanek began to cry. Charlon tried to feed him, but he turned his head each time she placed the gut sack in his mouth.

  “Can you not silence him?” Mreegan asked.

  “He is not hungry,” Charlon said. “What else could he want?”

  “You are Mother. Take him away and figure it out.”

  Eager to leave, Charlon picked up the boy. Carried him from the Chieftess’s cabin. The movement seemed to appease the boy, and he stopped crying. The seas were still rough. She took small steps to keep from falling. At her cabin she supervised the alterations. A carpenter had constructed a cradle from the bottom half of a wooden trunk. It was merely a hand’s breath longer than Shanek. He would not fit in it for long.

  When the child finally slept, Charlon sent all but Torol away. She had missed him. Showed her feelings the only way she knew how. The compulsion she had placed upon herself allowed her to touch and feel without fear or shame. It did not stop the insistent warnings in the back of her mind. But Charlon trusted Torol. He had always been kind. Kind even when the women abused him.

  Home, her heart said as she and Torol reunited.

  After a time, Charlon and Torol lay in each other’s arms, feeling the ship roll as the sea continued to toss the Vespara.

  Torol kissed her temple. “I revere you, Mother. You have done what no one thought possible. Even the Chieftess stands in awe of you. The child means so much to Magonia. And when he steps forward to claim the throne of Armania, there will be no end to your glory.”

  That much was true. Torol saw what Mreegan would not. Better even, he saw Charlon’s potential. “Prince Wilek will rule Armania first,” Charlon said. “Then Prince Janek.”

  “But if Prince Wilek could be killed,” Torol said, “Prince Janek would take his place. That would put Shanek one step away from being Heir to the throne of Armania.”

  The idea both thrilled and horrified Charlon. That Shanek might rule had been prophesied. The fruition of all she had been working toward. Yet she had never considered that the child could grow quickly. That he might rule soon.

  Her former bond with the eldest prince had allowed her to see. See into his heart. Prince Wilek had no evil within. No ambition other than to serve his people well. Such was the same reason Charlon wanted to be Chieftess. He did not deserve death for Magonia’s gain.

  Yet Torol’s plan had merit.

  “Whatever Magon deems prudent is what I must do.”

  “You are wise to ask the goddess,” Torol said.

  Charlon was wise. And in that moment she realized something awful. She loved this man. Loved him completely. It was Torol she dreamed about each night as she went to sleep, Torol she thought of when her imagination ran away, Torol’s face she had pictured when she had gone to Prince Janek.

  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.”