The Cedna (Tales of Blood & Light Book 2) (19 page)

W
hat
are you doing here
?” I demanded.

“The better question is what are
you
doing here?” Ricknagel retorted, glaring.

“I was sent here to—” I cut short my words. Shame hit at the oddest moments.

“You speak Lethemian,” he said.

“Yes.”

He studied me up and down, noticing the finery I wore, the jewels in my hair. “Who are you?”

“My name is … I am …” I found I had no lies left, but what would Xander Ricknagel make of the Cedna of Gante?

He pulled his trousers back on and marched out the door, letting it slam behind him. I paced the room, my skirts rustling. My thoughts whirled so fast I barely noticed when Ricknagel returned and threw himself into the chair I had recently occupied.

The door opened again, revealing a man wearing a rich blue doublet that displayed a figure of a warrior—the sigil of House Ricknagel—in russet embroidery.

“My lord,” he said, his face flushed. “It is apparently a custom here to offer a woman to important guests. I spoke to the chamberlain. She is a gift. Yours forever, not just for the night.”

All my regained resolve faltered. I glared at Ricknagel’s man, horrified. Hadn’t it been enough to suffer the intimacies of the governor, to endure the constant tightness of his unwanted bloodlight bind in my chest? Now I had to service his guests, too? Heat rose up my neck.
No.

Ricknagel remained sitting in his chair, impassive. “I see. Thank you, Kyro. You may go.”

The man left as quickly as he’d come.

Panic danced in my veins, though Xander Ricknagel could not be worse than the Governor of Vorisipor, and if he was, at least he would be different. And Xander Ricknagel could take me back to Lethemia. If I could remain calm, I could play this turn of fate to my best advantage. I might finally escape the languid, blood-sticky trap that was Vorisipor.
Be a diamond
, I told myself,
unscratchable. Get out of this.

“Did you know?” Ricknagel stood and peered over the chair at me.

I shook my head. “No one told me.”

“And how did you get here, to Vorisipor? Where did they get a Lethemian woman?”

“I was taken by Vhimsantese pirates many years ago. I expect the governor gave me to you for two reasons. For one, I speak your language. He must imagine that would please you. For another, he no longer has a use for me. I have been here for too many years.”

Ricknagel took two large steps out into the middle of the room. “That man would have to be a fool to imagine that I should be glad for the gift of a stolen and enslaved countrywoman.”

“He is no fool.”

“I agree,” Ricknagel said. “Which makes your presence here suspect. Only a fool would give an adversary a gift of a woman who had lived in his household for years. You could tell me anything. This is most irregular.”

“You make the mistake of thinking the Vhimsantese are like Lethemians,” I said. “Women of the harem know nothing. The only facts I know about the governor’s life are what he likes in bed and what kind of roses he grows in his gardens.”

“He has taken you to his bed?”

“He takes all the women in the harem. He wants a son. But in twelve years, not a one of us has conceived. He deludes himself into believing this is the fault of the women.”

Ricknagel shook his head, his mouth a tight line. “I am sorry for your misfortunes. I will take you back to Lethemia and return you to your people. Where are you from? I cannot place your accent.”

I saw no reason to lie. “I was Gantean.”

“Gantean? Good gods!”

“I left Gante long ago,” I explained. “I have no desire to return there.” A ghost of false memory flitted through my mind, a vision of a beautiful black-haired girl, almost a woman now, leaning over a mess of twine, knotting it into a fishing net under old Nautien’s guidance. Behind that, a black door throbbed and a low moan escaped beneath its crack. I closed my eyes and shook my head free of such visions. Too much night queen.

“I’m glad you don’t wish to return to Gante, as I’m not sure there’s much left there after Malvyna Entila’s latest campaign. Where would you like to go?” Ricknagel asked.

“I had not imagined having a choice.” What did he mean? What had happened to Gante? What had Malvyna Entila done? My heart raced.

“Think about it,” Ricknagel advised, though I’d lost track of the conversation. “In the meantime, you may come with me back to Shankar. I leave tomorrow.” He strode to the bed and turned down the bedclothes. I watched from my position against the far wall. Would he demand my attention?

He flung himself into the bed fully clothed. I waited until his breathing deepened, and then eased myself into the chair to sleep.

Xander Ricknagel was gone when I woke. I unwound the jeweled hairnet from my head and carefully tucked the gems into my bodice. Jewels like these would fetch a handsome sum for me to start a new life. I thought for a brief moment about Onatos, standing on the Queenstown docks, white shock seared into his face as he clutched a bag of jhass.

Once, the image would have made me angry. Now it only left me swimming in a sad, forlorn ocean. I could not go back to him, not now, though it was the memory of him that had sustained me here in Vorisipor.

R
icknagel had
an enormous man-o-war docked in the Vorisipor harbor. I’d never seen a boat so large, not even in Orioneport. The crew lifted me over the gunwale in a large basket. Once aboard, they settled me in my own cabin, much finer than an anonymous former concubine deserved, though I’d never complain.

I came alive as we traveled, a sleepy creature awakening from her winter cave. The ocean sang to me incessantly, asking for my touch as we sailed upon it. Magic rippled in my fingertips. I walked the broad decks of the warship, cutting my wrists with a knife stolen from my dinner platter, letting my blood drip down into the sea. I cleaved a fast passage for the ship. My magic unfurled into the ocean in a ready flow, and the sea swept back into me, filling hollows I had almost forgotten.

We made it back to Shankar much too quickly to be natural.

“Two days?” Kyro, Ricknagel’s manservant, said as he stood on the deck with his lord, pointing over the horizon to where the city emerged. I sat concealed behind a large crate tied down on the deck. “How? Even with the most favorable conditions, it could never be fewer than four.”

“I should ask Imagus Marsyas if he’s done something to speed us along.” Ricknagel said. “It’s extraordinary. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t mentioned it. Damned useful magic. And thank the gods! Every time we go to Vorisipor I feel Amatos breathing down my neck.” Ricknagel ran a hand through his cropped brown hair. He had a habit of doing that. I had spent a large part of the journey watching Ricknagel, trying to take his measure.

“The governor does not trust us,” Kyro said.

“No more than Mydon Galatien does,” Ricknagel agreed. “If Mydon discovers where I’ve been, there will be hell to pay.”

“Ungrateful man,” Kyro scoffed.

Ricknagel let a tight smile crease his stern face. “Indeed. The governor had … ideas. Better we not discuss them here. I did not know whether to be affronted or interested.”

“Shall I fetch Imagus Marsyas, my lord?” Kyro transformed back from a confidante to a manservant. I grimaced in my hiding place. I wanted to know more about what Ricknagel and the governor had discussed.

“Yes, Kyro. I’d like to know what he’s done to speed our passage. Imagine applying such water speed to my navy.”

I remained in my hiding place as Kyro returned with the old mage I’d seen with Ricknagel in the reception hall in Vorisipor.

“Marsyas,” Ricknagel said. “What have you done to speed our passage? It’s brilliant magic.”

The old mage stared at the horizon, mouth agape, clearly astonished to see the ramparts of Shankar rising so quickly. The Lethemian mages were powerful, but even they could not do what I had done.

“It is not my doing, my lord. I have been unwell the whole journey. You know I get seasick.”

“How do you explain that we have sighted Shankar in two days?” Ricknagel asked. “It cannot be natural. It’s impossible.”

“I have no explanation. Shall I look into the Aethers, my lord, for magic?”

“Please do.”

The mage waved his staff and his face went slack. Though my senses remained dull from years of disuse, I felt the sudden, forceful lurch of his regard in Yaqi like the bite of a blackstone shard.

The mage’s face reanimated. “That—that girl back there,” he said, pointing at my crate. “Who is she?”

Both Ricknagel and his manservant hurried around the side of the crate. I had nowhere to hide as they came around the corner.

“It’s the concubine,” Ricknagel said. “Were you spying on us?”

I shook my head, even though I had indeed been spying, though for curiosity rather than for any nefarious purpose.

“Did this woman have something to do with our speed?” Ricknagel went on, turning to the mage.

The mage looked me over. “Are you a magitrix?” he asked bluntly.

“I never went to your Conservatoire. But I know some magic.”

“An unauthorized sorceress?” the mage said.

“She’s Gantean,” explained Ricknagel in a conciliatory tone. “They have their own magic. Ma’am, did you assist our passage from Vorisipor? Tell us the truth, or my mage will compel you; are you a spy for Immaris?”

“What is Immaris?” I asked.

“Immaris Proseri, the Governor of Vorisipor, of course.” Ricknagel eyed me mistrustfully.

I had never known the man’s name. “I did help move your ship. A little,” I rushed to fill the silence. “I thought it best that we get far from there quickly. The Vhimsantese want nothing more than to expand into your lands. They could have easily held you or killed you; they have no scruples. I am no spy. I wanted out of Vorisipor as much as you did.”

“They’d only harm me if it would aid them in their expansion,” Ricknagel said grimly. “This magic you have, can you teach my mage how it is done?”

“I cannot. My magic is mine and mine alone.”

“We’ll see about that.” With a flick of Ricknagel’s hand, the sands of my life shifted yet again. I went from half-forgotten to clearly defined in the space of a heartbeat. Kyro the manservant took my wrist, using a grip I knew only too well, a grip with the intention to bind. I reacted without thought, summoning a surge of salt water over the warship’s deck with my scream. The wave washed over our little party with uncommon force, knocking the three men down and forcing Kyro to drop my arm. I alone remained standing. The water hovered around me, bated and waiting for my command.

Ricknagel recovered first. He turned to his old mage, who had fallen hard. I stood with my fists clenched, panting. I had no interest in playing the part of passive captive again. The dark power swirling around me was palpable in the air.

As Ricknagel stooped over the mage, Kyro dragged himself to his feet.

“Do not touch me again,” I hissed. “I will call the waters twice as high.”

Kyro inched towards Ricknagel. The old mage bled profusely from his head. I sensed bloodlight, draining from the wound in a slow stream.
For the Hinge. To pay for my magic.
Sometimes the Hinge took the blood it needed of its own accord.

Ricknagel glared at me over the body of his mage. Kyro departed, perhaps to get help.

“What have you done, woman?” Ricknagel demanded.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt him.”

His gaze shot daggers at me across the deck. “Hurt him? Hurt him? You might have killed him!” The blood did pour rather copiously from the head wound.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, but more coldly. The deed was done; I could not undo it.

Kyro returned with another man. They wrapped the mage into a blanket and carried him off. Ricknagel clamped a thick hand onto my arm, steering me towards the stern cabins. “You’d better hope Marsyas lives,” he said. “He is my loyal friend.”

The afternoon dragged on, the sun dipping lower and lower in the sky. Eventually we pulled into the Shankar harbor. The Ricknagel soldiers made a great deal of noise as they hustled to disembark. I remained locked in the cabin.

Night had fallen before Ricknagel came. I expected harsh words.

“The mage? Is he dead?” I asked.

Ricknagel shook his head. “It speaks well of you that you ask. He is weak, but alive. We’ve taken him ashore for care.” He assessed me with an acute gaze. “This Gantean magic that lets you command the sea, do you all have it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can all Ganteans do what you do?”

“Of course not.”

Ricknagel inhaled sharply. “And just what is it you can do? I know you sped our ship through the Parting Sea, and I saw you call a huge wave over my deck with my own eyes. But is there more?”

“The water obeys me,” I said shortly. “I can make it do what I please.”

He absorbed my words and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Anything you please?”

“All magic costs. I can only do what I can pay for.”

Ricknagel shrugged. “You could destroy many ships, though, just by calling a storm through the sea?”

“Yes,” I replied shortly, annoyed by his curiosity.

“That begs the question—if you are Gantean, why did you not blow every one of Malvyna Entila’s raiding ships out of the water years ago? Her campaign against Gante decimated your people. You could have put your power to good use.”

“When I lived on Gante, they never let me,” I said, seeing no harm in explaining. “All magic costs. The Gantean Elders were too afraid of the price. I did what I could, but they fought me at every turn.”

He appeared perplexed. “But your payment could be satisfied so easily, a lovely woman like you.”

What did beauty have to do with the payment for magic? Clearly Xander Ricknagel had no understanding of the cost of such power.

“We did what we could,” I said. The desperate measure I’d made with Nautien had been protective, not as aggressive as I once would have liked.

“You’ll have to come with me,” Ricknagel said. “I’ve half a mind to take you to Galantia and half a mind to keep you for myself.”