Sword of Fire and Sea (The Chaos Knight Book One) (18 page)

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he ship's doctor, after a thorough examination that brought Vidarian into full awareness of the extent of his bruises, declared him unlikely to die. Night now was under way in full, and they'd wrapped his head in bandages before burying him in the thick featherbeds and embroidered coverlets of Ruby's bed. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar and cinnamon, and though there was easily room enough for two, Ariadel insisted on sleeping in a hammock strung in front of the door. Vidarian found it all rather ridiculous but was in no condition to complain, and, with the assistance of a bitter draught administered by the ship's doctor, fell into a deep sleep as soon as the lights were out.

Ah, here we are again.
A voice. Soothing, almost. Familiar, almost.

The soft rush of the sea against strong ship-beam was a deep comfort after their days on land. But the sound was distant, because he was floating, reaching out into the sea itself. It should have been cold, but it wasn't—the fire of life that lived within it sang through him, from the tiniest creatures too small for the eye to see, all the way to the ship-sized whales who fed upon them. Their warmth was his warmth, and the sea was filled with bright consciousness, here between water and fire.

So curious. It's refreshing after all this time. I enjoy your mind.

The voice pulled at him, stopping him from reaching further. Annoyance, mild—he wanted to find the boundaries of this place.
Ariadel?
he thought, and her name filled him with sudden confusion. Who was he? They were on a ship. Where was the ship? Where was Ariadel?

Oh, that? That's very inconvenient. Let me fix it.

And the soft, warm presence that had—ever since the Vkorthan island—seemed just beyond his reach, but comfortingly near, was abruptly gone.

You're too good for her, you know.

He woke in a cold sweat, throwing back the opulent bedclothes with a wrench that set his head pounding. A sense of dread threaded with panic crept through him unlike any he'd experienced in his adult life. Strange nightmare…

A rustle from across the cabin. “Ariadel?” he whispered. She was a deep sleeper, but something had awakened both of them; there was more rustling of sheets, and then her feet thudding against the carpeted deck. Her hand was cool against his forehead, and she bent over him, concerned eyes meeting his.

It was just a nightmare. But—
Can you hear me?
he thought.

Ariadel's eyes continued to search his, looking for further sign of his injury. No thought came back to him.

Hoarsely, he whispered again, “Think something at me,” and her eyes sharpened with worry. A wrinkle between her eyebrows, for a moment—then her eyes widened.

“You couldn't…hear that?” her voice trembled, ever so slightly.

He shook his head.

In the dim light, her eyes glistened with water, and her hand clenched beside his head. Then she blinked them clear. “The blow to your head,” she said, and then coughed, grief closing her throat. “The nulls are a scourge,” she choked, anger burning through her pain. “They have no magic of their own, so they attack those of us who do.”

“Why couldn't we see him?” He knew he was asking a simple question to avoid telling her about the dream—that someone, another woman, had spoken in his mind and taken away their bond. Guilt welled up inside him, and he shivered involuntarily.

She took his shiver for a chill, and crept under the covers with him, sliding an arm carefully around his shoulders. He sighed at her warmth, coiling an arm around her waist, even as his bruises and head twinged. “They have no elemental nature,” she said, and pulled the covers higher around them. “It's an aberration—all sentient creatures, save them, have some elemental nature, even if it is faint. Most people have a balance of the elements—it's an imbalance that allows us to wield magic. But nulls have none at all. We don't consciously see elemental nature, but our subconscious mind processes it, and without it, a person becomes all but invisible to us.”

“That pendant Ruby had—”

“Fire magic,” she said, and without their link he couldn't quite tell whether there was a touch of anger beneath the words or not. “It imbues the wearer with a small amount of fire energy. She's dealt with nulls before.”

Like a child, he didn't want to sleep, fearing a return to the strange dreams, but fatigue, pain, and warmth conspired against him, pulling him down into unconsciousness again. Ariadel shifted, gently settling her arms more tightly around him, and he closed his eyes, surrendering—for now—to sleep.

Stepping onto the main deck the next morning was like staggering out of a tavern with a roaring hangover. The light assaulted his eyes, pounding the back of his head like an iron anchor, and Vidarian staggered half a step. Ariadel's arm, linked around his as if he were an old man, tightened, keeping him upright.

The journey to the bow, where several sailors told them Ruby kept an eye on their course, was a long one at such a slow pace. The busy bustle of the ship—brass being polished, sail repaired, rope knotted—was a homey comfort, even as it was a reminder that this was not Vidarian's ship and these were not his crew. He knew that Marielle would steer them steady, but the sense of wrongness at being away from his ship was a constant companion, and some primitive, superstitious part of his mind blamed all their recent misfortunes upon it.

Just as they caught sight of Ruby, perched like a gull on the tip of the bow, Ariadel gasped. At first, Vidarian thought it was at the young girl standing next to the captain, her arms full of a glass bowl with a writhing sea witch inside, but then he felt the coil of elemental energy—water, of course—wreathed around Ruby's body and outstretched arm. Below, the sea was a frothing, joyous tumult, propelling the
Viere
forward with unnatural speed.

Ariadel's frustration radiated out at him even without a telepathic link, and her mouth was twisted with disgust. “She's a rogue,” she muttered, aghast. “That magic is raw and untrained! She should be remanded to the Nistrans!”

“The Sea Kingdoms do not answer to land authority,” Vidarian said quietly, turning his head to make sure none of the crew had heard her. “Not even the priestesshoods.”

His words only enflamed her ire, but she caught his pointed glances and kept it silent.

As they closed on Ruby and the dark-haired girl Vidarian took to be her windreader, Vidarian noted with a sinking feeling the familiar dried-blood color of the sea witch inside the glass bowl. The girl bowed herself away without a word, arms wrapped protectively around glass, water, and octopus.

“I see you keep to the old rites,” Vidarian said, not quite keeping the weary resignation out of his voice.

Ruby snorted, still looking out over the waves, her first acknowledgment of their arrival. “You know full well a wise captain keeps the rites of her crew, and no more. Galon called for the sea witch after the attempt on your life.” She turned, then, and leapt down onto the deck, her boots thudding hollowly on the damp wood. In liquid coils the sea energy wrapped itself back into her body and disappeared, and with it, their unnatural speed dropped away.

Ariadel seethed beside him, and Vidarian spoke to stay ahead of her. “What's your decision, then?”

“I will call a Conclave. Not in a decade has there been an assassination attempt aboard this ship.” The tightness with which she emphasized ‘decade’ had Vidarian calculating backward. Rhiannon had been killed just over a decade ago. Surely she hadn't been assassinated? He searched Ruby's face for a hint of the answer, but she gave none.

“And turn us away from the Selturians, and my father? I must object,” Ariadel said, and Vidarian hoped Ruby hadn't noticed her clenched fists.

“I'm sorry, Priestess,” Ruby said, “but I'm quite resolved.”

“By Sea Kingdom law, you owe me the right of resolution by individual combat,” Ariadel said.

“Ariadel—“ Vidarian began, his head managing to swim and pound simultaneously, but Ruby took no notice.

“I would,” Ruby said, unruffled, “if landers were due the rights of sailors, which they are not.”

“I am the mate of one of your allies, and so due his rights.” Now Vidarian choked—wondering if Ariadel knew what she was claiming (the lander equivalent of marriage!), and then wondering if he wanted to know. The coughing fit that seized him brought blinding bouts of head pain with it.

Ruby, for her part, raised an eyebrow, smiling laconically at Vidarian's discomfort, and conceded with a genteel nod of her head. “Terms?”

“Staves.”

“Swords.”

Ariadel glared. “Magic.”

“Enough,” Vidarian managed, and their heads snapped toward him like unruly vipers. He glared back through a pounding head. “You both know full well you can't engage in public battle on these decks.” He turned to Ruby. “However you fought, it would come to magic, and she could burn down this ship—I've seen it.” And to Ariadel, “And even if you won without killing us all, you'd have an even bigger problem, because the crew would either kill you or declare you captain.”

Thwarted wrath emanated from each, either of which would have been intimidating alone. Only the pulsing of his head gave him impatience enough to hold his ground. Ruby was quicker on the uptake, visibly smoothing.

“He's correct, of course,” she said, all royal diplomacy again. “But I assume that you play Archtower?”

Ariadel stiffened, feeling for an insult. “Gevalle,” she said, not quite a question.

“The Velinese name,” Ruby agreed. It was a war game played with pieces of carved stone on a kind of grid. Vidarian had never once in their many games managed to defeat Ruby when they were children, a fact that she doubtless needled him with now. “I have a board in my quarters.”

“Very well,” Ariadel said. “One game.”