The Cedna (Tales of Blood & Light Book 2) (32 page)

T
he
first gulp
of Ijiq air after ritual was usually like the first beam of sunlight bursting over a morning horizon. A light to cut darkness.

It was not so as I woke from my long, fevered sleep. A load squeezed my chest. The residue of my dreams sat in my mind like a heavy, viscous film.

I did not want to be alive. Not here in the dark world. I wanted my bright world dreams: that spring grass, those happy youths. Velvet night skies and silken lips.

My feet found the floorboards of my cabin. I straightened my aching back. The linen at my wrists was stained through with old blood.

I forced myself out of the cabin onto the deck. The sun glared, bright but harsh; I did not permit my eyes to shy away from it. I walked, as if every step didn’t kill me, to
Firebrand’s
stern. When we had arrived, Anastaia had been beautiful: a clean, turquoise harbor. Now it lay in ruins, the skeletons of destroyed ships floating beneath a crepuscular sky. Black debris clogged the water. Ash sludged the surface, caking the ship carcasses, the docks, the waterside buildings. The water was no longer turquoise, but grey and putrid with floating corpses. Fire and death fouled the air.

I’d made it this way.

Skeleton Woman had told me all I needed to know of my life that day when I’d become the Cedna. She had told me my life would be nothing but darkness. I’d fought to live despite her warnings, as tenacious as a mussel on a tide-swept rock.

Ash drifted into my face. Ash lifted in my gut, where almost everything else was burned away. I had but one task left that mattered.

Onatos.
Onatos, whom I had loved, whom I did love. He was my diamond, my one precious thing. My reason for life. My only ember.

I had to find him.

L
ady Siomar called
me into the ship’s office. She sat behind the bolted-down desk, looking grim and drawn, as though the destructive magic had left her drained, too.

“You must take one of these men as a Source,” she said. “You have not replenished your aetherlight, and it is impossible that you should go on this way without replacing what you have spent.”

I took a seat in the chair opposing the desk. “That is not the way of my people or my magic.” Sayantaq mages like Siomar robbed others of their aetherlight via sexual congress to fuel their magic. I would do no such thing. I was the Cedna. I was Gantean, still, after everything.

“You must,” she insisted. “Your power wanes, and we have more battles to fight. We have been delayed far too long. The Amarian fleet waits at Orioneport, but already we have lost any chance of surprising them because of how long it took you to recover after Anastaia.”

I snorted. My power waned because the Hinge itself waned, because my blood waned, but she would not understand that. She and I spoke two different languages.

What was I going to do about Siomar Ricknagel? Had I more strength, I’d call a wave and pull her right from
Firebrand’s
deck next time she paced it, but the thought of performing any kind of magic made me want to weep. Or die.

“I will send a man to you in your cabin,” she said imperiously. “Gods in Amaranth, make use of him. We cannot delay any longer.”

I did not go to my cabin when I left the office, instead heading back to the stern to watch the wake trail behind
Firebrand.

The crew avoided me. They had been making the eastern hand sign against maledictions whenever I came near, ever since Murana. What did it mean that Vhimsantese sailors manned Xander’s ship? Dark truths lurked behind that evidence, but I did not delve into them. All I wanted was to get to Queenstown. All that stood in my way was Siomar Ricknagel.

Her robes rustled softly as she approached. “I told you to go back to your cabin and use the Source I arranged for you,” she snapped.

I’d had enough of the woman and her commands. Though facing away from her, I could feel in my magic sense that she reached for her damned magestone. I whirled, one arm outstretched, and knocked her casting arm. The Ophira tumbled to the deck and rolled. We both dove for it.

My hand closed around the warm, smooth rock.

“Give that back,” she hissed. Her hair had tumbled from its usual tight knot.

“No. We are done with these games. This is my ship now.” I stalked past her and back to my cabin, clutching the magestone. Vilanov himself sat trembling on the edge of my berth.

“Where is the nearest safe port for us to make land?” I demanded.

He eyed me warily, his gaze drifting over the magestone I held. He reached his hands out, flexing them as though feeling had just returned.

“Witches, both of you,” he hissed, making the eastern sign against evil.

“Did she compel you into my cabin?” I wondered. “Well, she’s done with that. We will sail for the nearest safe port and put Siomar Ricknagel ashore. Then we’ll sail for Queenstown.”

And Onatos.

F
or reasons of his own
—or perhaps because I now wielded the green Ophira—Vilanov obeyed me. The entire ship went into a flurry, trimming sails, changing course.

Siomar marched into my cabin. “What is the meaning of this? You’ve turned the ship east. We must go west to Orioneport!”

“I have no intention of sacking Orioneport.”

“If we don’t attack them in port and soon, Amar’s entire fleet will come after
us
—”

“Let them come.”

“What is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Xander said you were a loyal servant—”

“I am no man’s servant. I am the Cedna of Gante.”

“You—”

Sick of her voice, I flicked the green stone and willed,
Silence.
Southern magic came easily, without thought, without the terrible pull and weight of Gantean spellwork. No wonder the sayantaqs used it so freely. They did not even feel the cost.

The green Ophira clung naturally in my grip as I waved it again, forcing her to turn and sit in the single chair in my cabin. Her body performed the movements without resistance, though fury and dismay curdled her gaze. I left her sitting and fetched rope. Then I tied her securely to the chair, though I did not release the magic.

We sailed all the way back to the small Ricknagel harbor of Anatyr in less than two days as I called a strong current to push us.

I let Siomar Ricknagel talk as I compelled her from the ship and drove her like a sled dog to the single inn in Anatyr’s town center.

I left her immobilized by southern magic, sitting in a comfortable chair as though bound. I had paid for the finest room in the inn for her comfort.

“You’ll pay for this, you Gantean bitch!” she screamed as I closed the door on her. “Xander will hunt you down and slit your cursed throat!”

Only if he could find me.

T
hough I found
the southern magic and the powerful magestone thrilling, using them left me with an unpalatable aftertaste and a headache behind my eyes. I wanted to get back to a purer place. I wanted to find my Onatos and learn to be something better and brighter than what I had become. I wanted to be clean.

Before going back to
Firebrand,
I stopped at a supply shop in Anatyr, where I bought a wooden box and a parcel to wrap it in. Next I found the tiny post station.

I handed the postman the package I had carefully prepared. “It must go to the Ricknagel mansion in Shankar, care of Lady Sterling Ricknagel,” I explained. “It is very important.”

He lifted his brows but said, “Very well. It shall be done.”

Sterling had loved that green Ophira. It had given her comfort in times of duress. She might have need of it if her father’s war went badly, and returning it was the last service I could offer my young friend. Would she see me ever after as a traitor to her father? I feared so. The entire world would learn to hate the last Cedna of Gante.

I
assisted
Firebrand’s
westward progress back across the Parting Sea, speeding it along with another surging current, waiting for a course change from my recalcitrant crew, fully expecting it and ready to thwart it. I did not trust the men.

I suppose it was a compliment to my powers that they never even tried. They were that terrified of me. We were soon passing Orioneport at blazing speed, readying to round the Amarian peninsula and head north.

A ship crested the horizon. I should have simply launched a towering wave and destroyed it, but I was numb and taxed. The ship appeared harmless, a sloop designed more for speed than warfare.

Firebrand
swayed in the water like a ghost ship.

“What you have me do, lady?” Vilanov shuffled up to me with great wariness as we watched the sloop’s steady approach.

“Let her sail by. Why should she bother us?” I said, though, by the ship’s course, I could see it wanted to interact. It tracked too close.

Vilanov lifted his spyglass. “Not likely she only sail by. She come for reason. What flags you have me raise?”

“Parley-white. I’d rather speak with them than show any aggression.”

After our flag was raised, the sloop wasted little time in responding. First they raised a black flag emblazoned with Amar’s yellow-striped serpent. Then a white parley flag joined the Amarian sigil.

The sloop came broadside and lashed to us, though Vilanov didn’t like it. He’d rather fight before talking.

Three black figures swung across the ropes to join us aboard
Firebrand
. One could almost hear the waiting tension between the men of
Firebrand
and the interlopers.

Vilanov and I stood together as the Amarians approached.

I caught my breath. Jaasir Amar moved as he had in my dream, gracefully and smoothly.

“Cedna of Gante,” he bit out as soon as I stepped forward. “No need to introduce yourself.” He glanced across
Firebrand’s
deck, his eyes expressing a whole world of scorn. “Working for Xander Ricknagel? So what have you done with my father?”

I blinked and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The boy still thought I had his father?

“Is he here?” Onatos’s son hissed when he talked, and all his words were tinged with hatred.

“I have never had your father,” I managed.

Shouts from my crew rang out from the higher deck and the rigging.

Jaasir gave me a wicked smile. “They see my fleet coming over the horizon,” he explained. “One ship cannot stand against so many. They know it.”

Crewmen rushed down from the rigging, calling out frantically to Vilanov in the eastern tongue.

“I will destroy you,” Jaasir said. “You may as well surrender now.”

I trembled where I stood, feeling like a cornered cat. And like a cat, I did what I knew best. I lashed out.

In half a heartbeat, I caught the blade at my waist and cut my arm, thrusting my awareness into the deep, cold sea. I was swimming, coursing, growing. Tentacled streams rushed behind me. My beast ripped towards Jaasir’s ships on the horizon. Waves piled upon waves, as though the very bulk of the ocean mounted beneath the wooden hulls.

Tentacles splashed, heaving body breached. Wood splintered. Sails shredded and caught, riggings twisted, masts toppled. It was so easy. My beast was as large as the world. My beast could devour anything.

I barely took note of the shouts circling me aboard
Firebrand.
The vessel rocked dangerously, bringing me back into my body. The Parting Sea roiled around us. I settled the water with a soothing gesture.

“I am the Cedna,” I said to Jaasir. “I never surrender.” I jerked my chin at the horizon, where Jaasir’s ships were visible, thrashed and sinking.

He lunged at me, horror and fear twisting his young face.

My reflexes were dulled by the aftershock of so much magic. He hit me and rolled me to the deck. Cold steel bit my throat.

Above us, Vilanov drew his curved sword, a Vhimsantese weapon, and easily dispatched one of the Amarian guards who had boarded with Jaasir. He circled the remaining guard, blade out, body tense.

“Step down,” Jaasir called, digging his blade into my throat. I didn’t tremble. What were a few more drops of blood to me? “Step down, or she dies.”

Vilanov did not step down. Vilanov thought me a sorceress, fully capable of looking after myself. Or perhaps he hoped Jaasir would sink in the blade.

“Damned Amatos,” Jaasir muttered when he saw that Vilanov would not be coerced. Clashing steel rang out as the remaining Amarian guard and Vilanov engaged. While Onatos’s boy watched the action between the men, I took my chance.

I slid an arm inside his and pushed, knocking him away so that I could roll to my feet. The dagger skittered from Jaasir’s grasp, sliding to the edge of the deck. I took a few steps towards it as Jaasir sprang to his feet in pursuit.

I had no choice. I wiped the blood Jaasir had drawn on my neck and licked it from my fingers to bolster my strength. Then I reached into my power and threw a wave at Jaasir. Water poured over him. As the wave receded from the deck, it pulled Jaasir over the edge.

Forgive me, Onatos.

“Lady!” Vilanov stood above his vanquished opponent, blood smearing his blade. I strode towards him, and he gestured over his shoulder.
Firebrand’s
crew was arranged across the port side of the ship, slashing the ropes that bound us to the Amarian vessel. Amarians fell into the water as Vilanov’s men did their work to free us.

“We need you,” Vilanov panted urgently. “They have western mage-guns—”

I grabbed the fallen short sword from the man Vilanov had just slain and dragged the body to the gunwale where I slit his throat like a chicken’s, letting blood run down into the water. Fresh blood was the only way to get more power. I could not afford to give more of my own.

This is it
.
This is the last time. Never again. I am sick of all this blood.

My awareness again plunged into the dark waters. I sent a surge towards the Amarian vessel, a deep current that forced the ship back towards the wasted remains of the Amarian fleet.

In one last onslaught, I collected the waters around
Firebrand
and sent us racing away, west and then north, swinging wide around Amar’s peninsula. North and north some more.
Onatos, I’m coming. May you forgive what I have done.

Could legs get any heavier? I had to lie down. My body was as hollow as bird bones.

I tripped over a wet black bulk en route to my cabin.

I pushed at the shape with my foot. It gave like flesh and rolled.

Jaasir’s face shone whiter than a parley flag. How he had managed to crawl back up on deck, I couldn’t fathom. He coughed, weakly. A thrill ran through my swollen throat. He wasn’t dead! I had not killed Onatos’s son. Despite my leaden limbs, I bent over the young man, grabbed him beneath the shoulders, and dragged him into my cabin.

There I stripped his wet clothing. His body was so similar to his father’s: lithe and muscular and well-proportioned. I hauled him into my berth and tucked every blanket I had around his shivering body, hoping shock would not take him.

“Rest,” I told him. “Rest and recover your strength.”

I locked my cabin from the outside and went to direct Vilanov onward to Queenstown.

J
aasir Amar lay
unwell in my cabin, having taken a chill from the ocean waters. I had spent most of the journey north sitting beside his bed like a mother. I liked to watch him. He moved the way his father did in his sleep.

When his eyes opened as we pulled into Queenstown harbor, Onatos gazed at me through the cruel mirror of time.

“What is it you want?” Jaasir asked, his voice hoarse. “Isn’t it enough that you stole my father from me? Haven’t you done enough?”

Yes, I had done enough. All I wanted was to find my Onatos.

“I never hurt your father. I loved him. I still love him.”

Jaasir made a spitting-cat noise. “Let me go,” he said. “Let me go, you crazed bitch, and I won’t kill you.”

Such hatred in those indigo eyes! “I’m going to find him,” I murmured. “I’ll bring your father to you. I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring him. He’ll want to see you. Please.” I wasn’t above begging, not if it meant Onatos could see his son and feel joy.

Where to begin? I stood on the Queenstown quay, staring at the southern parade. I left Vilanov with strict instructions to watch over Jaasir, and I hired a carriage to take me to the Entila property above Queenstown where I had known so much heartache.

I stood on the wide front steps of the estate and knocked. No one would recognize me. Malvyna’s son must rule now in her stead. I only needed to get to Onatos, and all would be well.

An unfamiliar face answered the door, a man in white mages robes, to my dismay.

“Yes?” he said haughtily.

“Please,” I begged. “Please. I must see Tiercel. It’s urgent.”

His face clouded. “Tiercel? You mean the austringer? Lady Malvyna’s austringer?” His eyes narrowed.

“I must see him,” I repeated. My hand clenched around the knife I’d brought in my pocket.

He shook his head. “The austringer is gone.”

The blood left my head so fast I nearly fainted. “Gone?” My voice rose. “What do you mean, gone?”

He lifted his brows and reached for my arm. “What do you know of Tiercel the austringer? What brings you here? Who are you?” He had not yet pulled out a magestone, but I feared he would.

I shuffled away a few steps and threw off his hand. “What happened to him, to Tiercel?” I demanded.

“The man Tiercel is dead,” the mage said shortly. “He died when my Lady Entila died. Now, tell me what you know of him.”

Dead? Dead? How?
I could not ask, for the mage was even now slipping a hand up his sleeve.

I stumbled backwards down the steps and fled down the drive to the waiting rented carriage, racing to get out of sight.

“Back to the harbor,” I cried to the driver as I threw myself into the conveyance, my eyes burning. I cast a glance over my shoulder, but the mage had not given chase. The carriage door slammed, locking me into a silent, tight horror. I would never recover from this.