At dusk, trading closed on dockside. The last visitors to the ship left; sailors hauled in the gangplank. Those assigned as night guards climbed up the masts; Dorrin and her partner climbed down and went forward with the other sailors clustered near the foredeck. A different cook handed out fresh bread bought onshore and a bowl of fish soup. Two baskets of fresh fruit from the market were set out for anyone to take. Torches flared at intervals along the waterfront; the ship’s lanterns were lit. After a long day in the cramped top basket, Dorrin was glad to stretch out on the deck with the others.
Chapter Thirty-one
Cortes Immer, Aarenis
The Duke of Immer lay on his bed in Cortes Immer sweating and cursing. Despite what his surgeons said about his wounds, he was sure they should have healed by now. He had lost too many troops in the unsuccessful attempt to conquer Fallo. How had so many Kostandanyan troops filtered in without any of his spies noticing? How had they made it so far west, coming out of nowhere, it seemed, to outflank and attack his own flanking force from Rotengre? He needed more troops, and he needed to be seen as a strong leader again, not a weak man lying around in bed. Men followed strong leaders, not … He looked down at himself, still heavily bandaged, still lame.
His advisor was silent. He himself was determined to go down the river to the Immer ports, where he had the largest population and could draw on the pirates based at Whiteskull. His advisor had disagreed, insisting that the most important prizes were all in the north and could be taken by stealth as well as by mass of arms. They had quarreled; his advisor had withdrawn into whatever part of himself the advisor alone could enter until, his advisor said, he showed sense.
He knew better. His spies had told him Mikeli of Tsaia had sent the regalia away, almost certainly with Duke Verrakai … and Duke Verrakai had next been seen on Bannerlíth dockside, accompanied by the Sea-Prince, taking passage on Blessing with Captain Roynar in command. Immer spared a curse for the Sea-Prince, once an ally.
Immer’s own agent, arriving in Bannerlíth that day, had realized he could not hire a ship likely to arrive in the south before Blessing. Instead, he had put a disguised pirate aboard Blessing and followed his original plan, going on up the Honnorgat to enter Tsaia through Lyonya. Once in Tsaia, he had passed the word to another agent, who brought it across Aarenis.
Weather was brewing behind us, his letter said.
Roylan is a good captain, and Blessing a sound ship, but he will veer far out to sea and lose time when the storm reaches him. Best of Simyits’s luck, the man aboard will bring down a pirate attack on the ship, though that depends on where the storm leaves them. If the pirates cannot find the ship, they will run short of provisions and have to stop at Immerdzan; if not, he will still be days later passing Whiteskull than planned. Interception should be possible.
Interception could be possible—but only if he himself could be in Immerdzan so the necklace could show him if indeed the Verrakai and the crown were on the ship. He needed to heal faster … and for that he needed the aid of his advisor, who had helped him heal quickly before … but his advisor refused to come forth. Only blood magery would give him the power to use another’s death to heal his own wounds, and he did not know how to do it. His advisor did.
He had sent word downriver to hold Blessing on some pretext until he arrived—but what if the ship stopped at one of the other Immer ports instead? Immerdzan was the obvious choice, the largest and the most sheltered harbor—Blessing had traded there before—but also had stopped in Ka-Immer.
Immer struggled to sit up. The broken ribs hurt with every breath and more with movement—damn that thief horse. He could neither ride nor walk far, but he could lie abed in a boat as easily as in his fortress. Days had passed, tens of days, since Dorrin Verrakai had stepped aboard the ship. Where was she now? And did she really have the crown with her? He must not take the chance—he must head south now. Once up, gasping with the pain, he hobbled to his jewel case, leaning on a chair. The necklace sparkled at him … light rippled around the room, as if from dancing water. He stood watching it … and slowly, very slowly, it began to move, edging toward the corner of the box facing southeast, the opposite corner to the one it had favored before he left for Fallo.
He put his hand on it, felt the smooth, cool stones slipping, ever so slowly, across the calluses of his hand. He didn’t need his advisor … He had his own magery, and this necklace would lead him to the crown. The crown and the throne. King of all.
He put the necklace on. It felt cool against his hot skin, and an old memory of the years he thought lost returned. As a boy, flushed after dancing for his master, his master had draped a chain of gold coins and another of rubies around his neck. The smooth chill of gold coins and rubies pulled from a carved box had made his skin prickle, and he had danced again, as he was bidden, enjoying the feel of them sliding on his body.