Teressa forced her attention away from them, and to her surprising guest.
“You are not as besotted as I believed,” was Idres’s first comment.
Anger flared through Teressa.
What
has
Hawk
said
about
me
?
She wants me to ask, which puts me on the defensive
. Out loud she said, “Well, do I get my harbor, or not? Or did you come here to mock my courtiers in the ever-so-winning Rhiscarlan manner?”
Idres’s laugh was soft and husky.
“I came here to talk. And to decide,” Idres said.
“Shall we walk in the garden, where it’s slightly cooler?”
“The lakeside path,” Idres said. “I heard about it often enough, and I confess I would like to see it for myself.”
Teressa wondered who had talked about it. Hawk or her father? Again she decided against asking.
They walked together down the terrace steps and across the lawn to the lake shore. Shadows moved among the trees: Garian’s watchful guard. Idres seemed to note them as well, but other than a deepening at the corners of her mouth, an expression very much like Hawk’s, her face was unreadable.
Teressa said, “Hroth Harbor is becoming more demanding. My aunt, Queen Nerith, has her own problems in Siradayel. Because of these, my trade negotiations with my cousins in Beshar for use of Mir Harbor have been held up.”
Idres lifted her head as she peered at the twinkling lights in the trees. “Mir is as far north for you as Hroth is south.”
“Yes. Your River Lir would be the closest access to the sea for us. Have you opened Rock Harbor to trade?”
Idres said, “I plan to. But we’re still rebuilding. Not the Harbor. It was constructed as a military site, strong and built to last. I am bringing merchants in. But all my predecessor’s warships have required reconstruction to hold trade goods instead of warriors and weapons. That is slow going, when there is no treasury, and so much to be repaired.”
“Tell me what you want from us in trade for use of the harbor,” Teressa asked.
Idres gave that soft laugh again. “You are unexpected, young Teressa Rhisadel. Perhaps all princesses ought to be raised in orphanages.”
“One does learn to dust and to sweep,” Teressa said.
“Even in verbal encounters, eh?” Idres chuckled again. “I will tell you what I desire, in order of greatest need. The first is good cotton, for it will be some years before our crop will be reliable, I am told.”
“We haven’t a large cotton export,” Teressa said.
“But Siradayel does. When your aunt does begin paying attention to trade negotiations again, you could bring me a good trade. We have an excellent rye crop, and our oats are almost as good. Those mountains your young mages knocked over have broken down into very rich soil. As for you, your ceramics out of your western provinces are extremely dear by the time they get to us . . .”
Back and forth they talked, Teressa compromising, Idres compromising, but all along Teressa sensed that there was something Idres was holding back.
Teressa finally said, “We have walked all the way around the lake, and it looks like it’s almost time for the midnight supper. They will be looking for me. Would you like to join us?”
“No,” Idres said, which did not surprise Teressa. What followed did. “I will probably send you a young woman I trust highly. She will present credentials and a treaty, written up along the lines we’ve discussed. But first: I want to send some students to your mage school.”
“Oh?”
“I cannot afford to pay for their stay. Not yet. I want, say, ten years before we cover their fees. There will not be many, and I might only send them for the Basics, then undertake their further training myself. I still am considering it.”
“I will have to talk that over with Halfrid, but pending that, I have no objection,” Teressa said, dismissing thoughts of spies and magic war. The Lirwanis, ancient enemies, seemed to want to live in neutrality, if not quite as allies yet. And Teressa knew that the basics the Magic School taught were tough to use in a harmful way. Anyone that determined would find their way to evil magic, as Andreus had done many years ago.
“Agreed.” Idres tipped her head, regarding Teressa through narrowed eyes. “My cousin Hawk does not pay me allegiance any more than he does you,” she said.
Teressa waited for her to say more, but that apparently was all Idres was going to say about Hawk.
Idres turned. Her face, so very much like Hawk’s, was still sardonic, but her voice was that of a mature woman, one who had honed a cool, quick wit under the grind of tough experience. “Expect my ambassador by harvest time,” she said. “I think you will like her, Teressa Rhisadel.”
Idres muttered the way that mages do, there was a soft
paff
of air, and she was gone.
Teressa realized the last words were a kind of guarded approval, and she felt the inward glow of satisfaction that lasted about three heartbeats, the time it took to scan the terrace as the last dance was ending.
There in the very center danced Hawk, his elegant, slightly sinister black clothes a contrast to Orin in her plain brown mage tunic, her long silver hair swinging freely, her manner tranquil and reserved as always. Hawk seemed to be addressing comments to her, but she never answered, though she danced with him, and at the end, she walked away, not even looking back to see his ironic half-bow.
Teressa slowed her steps, watching Orin scan the assembled guests, most of high degree: it was quite clear that Hawk was already gone from her mind, and she sought among these barons and dukes only one person: Tyron. But he was nowhere in sight.
Teressa gave in to impulse and changed her direction. When she neared Orin, she said, “Tyron went back to the school?”
Orin’s head turned so quickly that her silvery hair flagged out like a silken cloak. She bowed, then said, “I do not know.”
“You and Hawk draw the eye, dancing together.”
Orin’s face did not change. “He seeks me out because I present a challenge.”
“How is that?”
Orin’s eyes were light-colored, reflecting the starlight, their expression serious. “I have no interest in what he says, or what he thinks. Somehow that seems to merit his attention.”
“Why do you have no interest?” Teressa asked. “You study magic. Hawk is a powerful mage. Some say as powerful as Tyron, if not more so.”
“Because I cannot trust any of his words,” Orin replied. “So they hold no value for me.”
This girl had grown up in a mountain village on the border between Meldrith and Senna Lirwan, her people necessarily hardy. Tyron had once said Orin’s best friend was a fierce, giant gryph, a bird universally regarded as untamable.
Teressa said, testing, “Your interest is confined to Tyron, then?”
Orin’s gaze lifted. She studied the stars as though reading something there, then she faced Teressa. “Yes,” she said, simple and tranquil. “What Tyron says, and thinks, and does, matters to me. And I hope one day that what I say, and do, and think, will matter in the same way to him.”
Orin bowed, and walked swiftly away.
Teressa gazed after in surprise, until she felt a hand touch her shoulder and slide around her back.
Warmth branched through her, quick as lightning. She turned in Hawk’s grip. He looked down, unsmiling, his eyes shadowed. “Well?”
She swallowed. “You did what I asked.”
“Yes. And now?”
She shook her head, her heart hammering with anticipation. “And now what?”
He smiled at last, a faint smile, then said, “We shall begin with this.”
His thumb caressed her cheek down to her chin, and right there on the terrace, in full view of anyone who cared to see, they kissed.
“Drill!”
The
Piper
’s deck thundered as everyone ran to their stations. Wren and Captain Tebet watched as the crew started performing their assigned tasks: some trimming sail, others booming down the launches, and two of Captain Tebet’s younger members running to fetch Wren’s magical preparations.
“It might just work,” Captain Tebet squawked, rubbing a rough hand through her grizzled, gray hair. “Might just work.”
“Don’t say that.” Wren was thinking of her chickens.
Captain Tebet snorted. “We’re as drilled as any navy. All we need is the wind to haul ‘round a little more, and we’re there.” She pointed to her chart, which was spread on the binnacle, then squinted up at the sky. “Bright.” She sniffed. “Far too bright.”
Wren looked up. The sky was cloudless, but not what one would call clear. There was a faint haze throwing such a strong white glare back that her eyes teared. Splashes of sunlight reflected up from the choppy waves with diamond-brilliance, making her wince.
“Too hot, too bright, too still. I think we’re in for a blow,” the captain said with satisfaction. “If it will just come out of the east, not the west, we’re clear.” She scowled at the eastern horizon. “Haze is worse there, but that could mean anything.”
Wren had spent enough time on ships to understand that the wind was of first importance, but you could not always predict what it would do. So far it had benefited them, sending them tacking the long way around Tomad Island, which took a couple of extra days, but it was unlikely that Andreus had posted watch ships on that side of the island. That same wind had pinned his fleet in the harbor. Even the fastest ships in the world couldn’t sail very well into the wind.
The bell tinged for a watch change, and those off duty went below into the little galley to eat. Patka had joined Captain Tebet’s cook, who was a tall, lugubrious man who seemed to know every sea ballad ever sung. The cook and Lambin had been entertaining the crew at night—between the drills.
It had been Captain Tebet’s idea to give each crew member a chance to call suddenly “Drill!” and watch everyone drop what they were doing and move to their positions. The first few days out of the Okidaino harbor they had practiced during the day, when everyone was rested. When Captain Tebet’s turn came, she not only rousted them out at night, but during a rainstorm.
The result was a disaster, which caused each person to practice his or her part on their own. Since then, Wren was pleased to discover, there had been no flapping chickens in the drills.
That meant everyone was ready, and if the plan failed, the fault would lie squarely with her. She frowned at the ruffling wake stretching out behind them, knowing that too much thought like that would defeat her before they even came in sight of Tomad Islands. Better to mentally review her spells—
There it was again, that inward touch, a familiar touch—
After so long without it, she’d half forgotten that sensation, but she recognized it now. Someone was trying to scry her!
She slammed her mental door.
Who could it be? Intense curiosity struggled against caution. Wren was certain that Andreus was the one who had warded her scrying. Had he removed the ward so she would think it safe to try again? He could then find out where she was.
Wren whispered a little spell that hid her from the scrying realm. No one could reach her now, which meant Andreus couldn’t surprise her when she was asleep, or not paying attention. She did not want to risk revealing a single glimpse of her location, or any of her plan.
“Something wrong?” Connor emerged from the aft hatch, the slight wind ruffling his red hair.
“Someone tried to scry me,” Wren said. “I suspect it might be Andreus. But don’t worry. I blocked it. And I’m going to review my spells yet again.”
Connor came to stand beside her. “Wren, I’ve never even seen Tyron worry as much as you have.”
Wren said, “I don’t care how much fuss I’m making, as long as Andreus’s fleet gets the chickens, and not us.”
“Understood.” Connor looked up, his eyes reflecting the blue of the sky. “Still no sign of those daws, I am relieved to say.”
Wren nodded. The jackdaws had followed them for a day or two, swooping and diving with other sea birds, but on their third day, they’d flapped away northward and vanished.
“Longface just told me he thinks a storm is coming.”
Wren looked eastward. “Captain Tebet says so, too. But Longface is below, on his snooze watch. How can he know?”
“He says his nose always itches before a big storm.”
“Well, I just hope it’s itching eastward, and not a nasty westward itch.”
A husky crow of a laugh from the Captain at the wheel caused them both to turn her way. “It’s a-comin’,” she said. “It’s a comin’—”
“Land ho!”
Everyone stopped. “Where away?” the captain squawked.
The lookout on the main mast yelled, “Island, straight west.”
They rushed to the side, peering under their hands. Wren’s eyes teared from the ferocious glare and she could see nothing. Yet already the sea seemed restless, the waves choppier, and the blue color was changing subtly to green.
“Haul north!” the captain bellowed. “Keep well north. We don’t want them eyeballing us!”
Sailors dashed to the ropes and sails.
Wren moved to the hatch, out of the way. “I’m making one last round,” she declared. “Just to make certain everything is just right.”
The Captain was peering in the other direction. She turned her head and roared, “You better make sure it’s all battened down!”
The ship heeled sharply. When it plunged down in the other direction, Wren looked eastward. The sky had already changed with frightening speed: the entire horizon was now a white line growing larger and grayer.
She hopped to the hatch as sailors struggled to get it closed against the fast-rising wind, and scrambled down the ladder, both hands holding tight.
If the captain needed her to help tend sail during the storm she’d call; now Wren meant to guard all her magical preparations that she had labored so hard over during the long days of sail.
The hull and masts groaned as the wind began to howl. When the rain hit, a shudder ran through the ship, but the below decks stayed warm and dry as Captain Tebet, unlike the captain of the
Sandskeet
, had paid for a magical water seal of the entire hull, not just the captain’s cabin.