Luckstones (3 page)

“Give over, Lyd,” Nault gasped.

“Give over and die? Not likely.”

“I’ve the luck.” Nault flashed that beautiful, broad grin.
The wreath of luckstones around his neck glinted in the sunlight, and Amielle
was struck with inspiration.

“Unfair!” she cried. “Those stones give the master an
advantage! Cry foul!”

“Whot?” Gorle looked around as if he could not remember who
was speaking.

Amielle rose from her hiding place in the lee of the rail
and said again, “The master has an advantage; so many luckstones together when
she’s only the one. If the master doesn’t fear being beaten by a woman, he
should fight without the necklace.”

“I fear nothing. Least of all Lyd, here.” Nault reached with
one hand to pull the wreath of luckstones over his head; his tawny skin glowed
with sweat and his hair stirred in the breeze. With the necklace in one hand
and his sword in the other he was a very heroic figure. And knows it, Amielle
thought.

Lydanne looked at the master with hopeless admiration—but
she had not lowered the point of her sword.

Nault dropped the necklace on top of a barrel, well away
from the crew, and turned back to face Lydanne. “Now we finish this,” he said.

They fought. Amielle had no words for what she was seeing,
other than that with each thrust and cut she was certain that one of them would
die. They fought around the deck, causing the watching pirates to scatter more
than once. Lydanne’s blade caught Nault on the shoulder and cut him; a
whistling downward slash missed her ear but took a hands’ breadth of Lydanne’s
queue. But that was the last advantage Nault gained; Lydanne fought with grim
purpose and economy, where Nault grew angrier with each moment. Finally the
master made a lunge for Lydanne’s side that put him off balance; she parried the
cut, then swept his foot out from under him with a kick, and the master was on
his back with her point at his throat.

“Do you give?” Lydanne was panting so hard the words were
hard to understand. She repeated them.

He nodded. Lydanne took up his sword and stepped back. She
tossed his blade to Gorle as Nault got to his feet.

“Now, I suppose we must figure what’s best to do with our
stowaway,” Lydanne said. Or began to. The words were cut off by Nault’s hand
across her mouth and a small, wicked looking knife at her throat.

“Word to a woman isn’t any word at all,” he said. “First
you, then the chit.”

He pulled Lydanne backward with him toward the railing. The
other pirates watched and did nothing. Any notions Amielle had cherished about
honor among pirates were entirely gone now. Lydanne would die, and then she
would die, and for what?

Amielle crawled unseen in the shadow of the rail until she
found what she wanted: Nault’s necklace, the pile of rings, earbobs, and pins
strung together on a salt-stiffened thong. For the third time, Amielle got to
her feet and called attention to herself once more.

“Let her go, Nault.” The girl held his necklace out over the
railing with nothing but the green depths of the sea below. “Let her go, or
I’ll—” She shook her hand and the stones clicked and clinked together. Her
voice was shaking too.

Nault released Lydanne and launched himself, not at Amielle,
but at the necklace itself, in a movement fluid with rage. Amielle stepped
back, but not fast enough; Nault hit the rail with his hip, grabbing with both
hands at the necklace, For a moment that seemed very long, he stretched out
over the rail, his weight pulling on the thong. Lydanne reached for Nault to
pull him back, but it was too late; he fell over the rail, the wreath of stones
in his hands, and disappeared into the sea. Only one stone—the emerald earbob
by which Amielle had been holding the necklace—remained clutched in her hand.

~o0o~

There was no question that, with Nault gone, Gorle ha
Deman was the most senior seaman on the ship. The pirates, including Lydanne,
looked to him for what they should do next.

“Cap’n said head for Isl’Alander, zo I reckon that’s what we
do,” Gorle said at last. Amielle sat binding Lydanne’s wounds inexpertly, and
Lydanne, wincing and drinking ale, had returned her spectacles to her nose and
retied her newly-shortened hair. “Z’ for you, Lyd, I dunno. Ef only you wan’t a
woman—” He sounded as if it had simply been a bad choice on her part. “I dunno
what the Cap’n’ll say about Nault. It’s likely he’ll blame you, though, and I’d
not want to be in your shoes.”

Lydanne nodded. “I had thought as much myself. Gorle, if I
take the skiff and bring the girl home—will you give me my share?”

The pirate considered. He was not a man, Amielle thought,
much given to being in charge.

“I spose you earnt it, din’t you? Even
with
being a woman. Go below and we’ll count out what’s yours. Oy,
Breggen: provision the skiff and get her ready to launch. It’ll be a week or
more before you reach Meviel.”

~o0o~

They left the
Plover
without ceremony or farewells. If Lydanne regretted leaving the ship she did
not say so. Instead, settled into the skiff, she took bearings with a magnet
floated in a shell full of water, and began to row. For as long as it took for
the skiff to lose sight of the
Plover
Amielle
said nothing. But finally she could stand it no longer.

“Lydanne?”

“Hmm.”

“I am sorry about Nault.”

The pirate woman rowed on. “I am too, girl.”

“I didn’t mean for him—I just didn’t want him to kill you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

That didn’t seem enough to Amielle. She thought for a few
minutes to the accompanying sound of the oars dipping slow and smooth.

At last, “I don’t think he could have—I don’t think he would
have loved you.”

Lydanne shook her head. “You’re right there.” One corner of
her mouth quirked up. “But I could have loved him, see.”

Amielle thought about that, but it made no sense to her. The
pirate woman said nothing, but Amielle felt there was a good deal that could be
said, as she often did when dealing with adults. She had an idea.

“Lydanne, would you like this? To remember—” Amielle offered
the emerald earbob in the palm of her hand.

Lydanne stopped rowing and looked at the stone. “No, sweet.
I’ll remember well enough on my own. You keep it. Spoils of war.” She fixed her
gaze on the sea before them, the featureless horizon, and picked the oars up
again.

“Don’t be stupid, girl. Marriage is for the consolidation
of wealth and property. Romance is for diversion. And love—” Deira do
Morbegon’s tone was derisive. “Love is for poets.”

“Mamma, I know better than to speak of love and marriage in
the same breath. But
this
—even if I
liked it, what good would it bring? There can be no children—”

“When our families are joined, one of you will get a child
from somewhere.” Madam do Morbegon shrugged as if children might be bought at
the Actenar bazaar. “You may take lovers now and then. Discreetly.” For a
moment Madam do Morbegon appeared to soften; she sat on the unmade bed beside
her daughter and her daughter’s hand in her own. “If your brother had not died
he
would have married her. Evida do Caudon
and I have schemed since
we
were
girls to unite our families, even before she married the Cindon. Your father
meets with the bishop today to get a Writ of Exception; such marriages are
uncommon, I grant you, but—I was at court when Prince Ebuen wed Prince Beqis
and Meviel annexed his principality. When the property is
important
…” Madam do Morbegon reflected for a moment upon the
importance of the Caudon holdings. “Ellais, she inherits
all
. You will be Cindiese one day—or at least the consort of a
Cindiese. It is an excellent match except in one
little
way.” She rose from the bed, pulling her hand from her
daughter’s. “Now get dressed. You will wish to look well for your betrothed.”

It was a command. Madame do Morbegon left before her
daughter could protest anew. Ellais heard voices, low, outside her door, and
then Lilsa, her body-maid, entered the room, almost invisible behind a pile of
dresses.

“Madame says we’re to be turned out nice for visiting,” she
said around the fabric. “I thought the green, or p’raps—” Lilsa made the error
of meeting her charge’s eyes. “Is he
very
bad, sweet?”

“You don’t know?”

“How could I? Madame set her maid to watch at the door while
she talked to you.” Lilsa sniffed aggrievedly. “But she did say
betrothed
. Who is it? Is he old? Rich at
least?”

“Rich,” Ellais agreed. “And young. But not
he
. They’ve betrothed me to Taigna me
Caudon.”

“
Taigna
—”

Ellais nodded. “Papa is meeting with the bishop about a Writ
of Exception for the Marriage. Mamma and the Cindiese have scheduled the
wedding in six weeks—just long enough to prepare two sets of bride clothes. The
Cindon and Papa are delighted with the settlements. My wishes count for
nothing, and Taigna—God alone knows what she makes of this. Mamma has made it
plain I have no chance of refusing. Married I will be, to a girl I’m on no
better than speaking terms with.”

“P’raps the bishop will say no to the Writ,” Lilsa suggested
dubiously.

“I wish I thought so. But it’s all money and property;
there’ll be talk, but Papa is wild to have the Caudon properties in the family,
and the Cindon is apparently just as interested in our money; between the two
of them, they’ll bend the bishop to their will, I’m sure of it.”

“Well. What can’t be cured must be endured.” Lilsa began to
spread the dresses she held upon the bed in a colorful fan. “Madame said you
was to be ready to make a call within the hour. I think the green, don’t you?”

~o0o~

House Caudon stood three streets from the Great Hub and
the House of Speakers in the Vocarle district. The white stone edifice rose
four highly ornamented stories; to Ellais’s eye it resembled a towering wedding
sweet. She, with her mother one step behind her (
to block all escape
, Ellais thought) was shown to a drawing room by
an elderly manservant, and within a minute the Cindiese do Caudon appeared in
the doorway, one hand firmly clasped round the wrist of her daughter Taigna.
From the look of things, Ellais reflected, Taigna was no better pleased than
she was at the engagement.

The older women greeted each other with uncomplicated joy.
The girls curtsied dully, neither meeting the other’s eye. When the two mothers
fell to planning, their daughters were silent, until Madame do Morbegon, lips
pursed, broke off a discussion of veils to rap Ellais on the wrist and exhort
her to make some conversation with her betrothed.

“For heaven’s sake, you ought to be excited! This is the day
you’ve waited for all your life; if you do not wish to be a part of planning
it, at least say something to
dear
Taigna.”

Madame do Caudon nodded her head, made imposing by a
beribboned cap of lace and black lilies which threatened to pitch forward into
her lap. “Tainey, my dear, why not take your—take Ellais out to the
conservatory and see if you can agree about flowers for your bridal posies. I
think they should each carry the same, don’t you?” The Cindiese turned back to
Deira do Morbegon, and the two mothers were lost in discussion at once. Taigna
rose from her chair and led Ellais to the back of the house and the large,
draughty conservatory.

Ellais examined a pot of scentless flowers.

“Well.” Taigna’s voice echoed.

“Well. Are you—happy?” Ellais asked.

“Happy?” For the first time Taigna me Caudon met Ellais’s gaze
straight on. So far from being pleased, she looked furious. “Happy! I have made
it perfectly plain to my parents for years that I had no wish to marry, at
least not until I had finished my schooling, and perhaps a year or two of study
at the University in Hadsilon. Happy to be married at nineteen, without so much
as a first degree to my name? Are you mad?”

Ellais gaped. “A first degree? You want to be a scholar?”

“I always have. And Papa promised me that I needn’t think of
marriage until I had at least that, and then your brother dies and suddenly
Papa and your father are in a great hurry to marry us off, lest one of
us
die and stall their plans to unite
our fortunes forever. Mama is saying I must stop attending classes—that it’s
not suitable for an affianced woman. Well
I
never wanted to be affianced, and I—”

“You don’t mind it’s
me
?”
Ellais broke in.

Taigna blinked. “Is there something wrong with you?”

Ellais stamped her foot so hard that her dark curls danced
around her face. “You don’t mind that we are both women?”

Taigna considered. “I suppose you might be rather less…
intrusive than a man. But Mama says once we’re wed I’ll have to give up
studying, so it hardly matters, does it.”

“If you’re Cindiese, oughtn’t you to be able to do as you
like?” Ellais asked. A flower, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, came
off its stem in her hand.

“
When
I’m
Cindiese—but Papa may live for
years
.
All that time I’d be falling behind in my work.”

Taigna was not Ellais’s idea of a scholar; until now she had
assumed that all such were elderly men with braided white beards and heavy
black robes, wandering through the corridors of the university with abstracted
airs, or scurrying about Meviel to tutor the children of great families. Her
own schooling had been intended only to make her literate enough to read
romances, of which she had consumed many, and numerate enough to keep a set of
household books.

“What can we do?” Ellais asked.

Taigna blinked nearsightedly. “Do?”

Ellais looked about her for a chair, saw a wrought-iron
loveseat, and dragged her betrothed to it. When they were seated knee to knee
she leaned forward conspiratorially. “You do
not
wish to marry me.”