A Jewel Bright Sea Read online

  Before Anna could sort out all the details, she was hurried over the side and guided down the ropes by strong, capable hands. Nikolas was already in the boat, along with several large men. Maté was not with her—she felt a spurt of panic—then the woman’s voice called out from a short distance away, something about taking her boat in first.

  Their boat shot forward toward the shore lit by moonlight. The sailors jumped out and hauled the boat onto a gravelly expanse. One picked up Anna and deposited her on the narrow beach. She caught a few words here and there, enough to understand the crew was excited about their success.

  “Lady Vrou.” Nikolas appeared in front of her. “Come with me, please.”

  She’d lost track of Maté in the confusion of landing. “Where is…”

  “Don’t worry about your man,” the boy said. “The captain said he’ll take care of him.”

  Which was no comfort at all. But she allowed Nikolas to lead her away from the landing to a rope ladder that climbed the face of the cliff. Nikolas motioned for her to go first. “Grab the ropes, just like on a ship. One hand to reach, one to keep you steady. There you go.”

  Up and up they climbed, what seemed a height greater than any ship. At last Nikolas called out that theirs was the next landing. “Wait for me,” he said.

  He swung off the ladder and scrambled up the wall itself, using handholds that she swore were invisible, and took her hand. “Easy, lady. The ledge is a bit narrow. Don’t stumble over those rocks. Here we go.”

  He led her through a narrow gap in the wall, around to a point that overlooked the ocean. The lamplight had died away, but Anna could make out the opening Nikolas pointed to. She ducked under the low arch and found herself in a small grotto, little more than a hole in the side of the cliff. Three fat white candles were set on a stone ledge, and their light threw the rough walls into sharp relief.

  “Would you like water?” Nikolas asked. “Or another dish of stew? Oh, and there’s a pot in the back, if that’s what you need.”

  “Does it matter what I want?” Anna murmured.

  The boy hesitated. “Someone will come for you soon.” Then he was gone.

  Anna let out a long, unsteady breath. Someone, meaning Koszenmarc.

  She glanced back to the cave’s entrance. A fresh breeze carried in the scent of the ocean, of mud, and the unexpected scent of wildflowers and newly sprouted grass. Only air and water lay in that direction.

  The rest of the grotto did not leave much to be uncovered. One hammock, slung from iron hooks set into the rock. Two dusty cushions. A makeshift table made from planks set over bricks. The pot the boy had mentioned.

  Beyond the hammock, the grotto narrowed to a point. Cracks and fissures led deeper into the cliff. When she leaned close, a puff of stale air grazed her face and she caught the scent of cold ashes. A small black spider popped from one crevice and skimmed over the wall into another.

  “Lady Vrou.”

  Anna started and turned to see a silhouette in the entrance, blocking the stars. “Yes?” Then she recognized the voice. “You’re Nikolas’s mother?”

  “I am Eleni Farakos, second-in-command to Captain Koszenmarc,” the other woman replied crisply. “Follow me. The captain wishes to speak with you.”

  She turned to one side and gestured. Metal flashed in the lamplight from a knife in her hand.

  Two more pirates waited outside, both of them armed. They took the lead, while Eleni indicated for Anna to follow. Back through the narrow gap, up a rope ladder, then around again toward the ocean side of the island. If a man’s household reflected his character, then this Lord Koszenmarc was a complicated soul.

  At the halfway point between sky and sea, her two guards swung off the ladder. Anna glanced down to Eleni, who offered her a most unreassuring grin.

  Very well. We play this game to the end.

  All too aware of the emptiness below her, Anna cautiously left the safety of the ladder for the ledge. Her legs swayed, and she nearly pitched over the side, but one of the guards caught her by the arm. “Through there,” he said, pointing to a narrow opening in the stone flanked by torches.

  The tunnel bent and twisted back upon itself before it opened onto a sizable cave lit by oil lamps. Dozens of men and women—all of them armed with knives or swords—stood along the walls, two and three deep. Islanders, most of them, though a few had the pale eyes she associated with Ysterien or the Empire’s southwest provinces.

  A long low table occupied the center of the chamber. All the benches were empty except one in the middle, occupied by a broad-shouldered man, his hair tied in a serviceable knot. Even though he had his back to Anna, she recognized him immediately.

  “Maté.” She hurried forward.

  Maté swung around, but before they could do more than clasp hands, Eleni stepped between them and laid a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You, sit over there. And no talking.”

  Reluctantly, Anna let go of Maté’s hands and took a seat at the far end of the table. Maté seemed subdued and had a dark bruise over one eye. Not a good sign.

  Eleni took a seat opposite Maté. She had the same dusky brown coloring as her son, the same hawk nose and thick black hair tied in braids close to her skull. Like him, a pale white scar stretched over her left cheek. More scars mottled her arms.

  She laid her knife on the table. Maté scowled. She smiled back in a way that made Anna think they had exchanged a few words, and none of them friendly.

  Koszenmarc entered the cave from yet another passageway. He and his second-in-command exchanged a glance that seemed to convey an entire conversation of questions and replies.

  They’ve known each other for years, Anna thought. Perhaps since he first came to the islands.

  Friends, just as she and Maté were friends.

  Koszenmarc took the seat at the other end of the table. He had changed into clean clothes. His hair was damp and slicked back, but a rough beard shadowed his jaw and there were smudges under his eyes, as though he had not slept in quite a while. Faint lines beside his mouth and eyes deepened as he returned her glance. She noticed he no longer wore a bandage where she had bitten him.

  “So,” he said. “Let me be plain. We know you aren’t Barône Klos’s daughter. You came to these islands chasing after the same thief as me. Now the man has vanished, together with the object he stole. I have a client who will pay a great deal of money for that object. I want you to join my company and help me find the man and whatever he stole.”

  Anna stared at him. “Why?”

  Koszenmarc shrugged. “Profit. Yours and mine. And your friend’s,” he said with a nod to Maté. “Or does he work for other wages?”

  Maté slammed his hands on the table. “I am not—”

  Three things followed swiftly. Eleni Farakos swept up her knife and threw. The blade flashed as it whirled between Maté and Anna, to be caught one-handed by another pirate. The rest of the pirates surged forward, stopped by a gesture from Koszenmarc.

  Maté blew out a breath and subsided. Anna swallowed against a very dry throat. “I am no pirate,” she said. “I cannot help you.”

  “Then what are you? Why did you come to Eddalyon?”

  “I…” All the reasons Lord Brun had impressed upon her flooded her memory. Reasons that she no longer trusted, but even so, she had no reason to trust Koszenmarc either. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I cannot say.”

  “I’m sorry as well,” Koszenmarc said. “Since you refuse to cooperate, we must hand you and your friend over to Commander Maszny. It’s not much of a reward, but better than nothing. You have tonight and tomorrow to reconsider.”

  At his signal, five pirates hauled Anna to her feet. Six more took hold of Maté. Anna struggled to break free. She would not go back to that miserable hole in the rock. She would not wait and wait for some perfect moment to escape. If she died, at least
she would die cleanly.

  She drew a breath, spiraling her focus down as quickly as she could. Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf—

  “No!”

  Koszenmarc leaped over the table. At the same time, Eleni Farakos grabbed Maté by the hair and yanked his head back. She had yet another knife in her hand and pressed it against Maté’s throat.

  “No,” Koszenmarc repeated. “Do not fight my people. You are both hostage to each other.”

  Anna swallowed and glanced at Maté. His eyes were closed to slits, and he was breathing quickly. A trickle of blood leaked from the knife at his throat.

  “I promise,” she answered.

  “Good,” Koszenmarc said. “We understand each other now.”

  Eleni released Maté and snapped out a series of orders. Two guards hustled Maté out another exit, while Anna’s own guards bundled her out a different direction to the rope ladder, then down to the grotto, where they dropped her just inside the entrance. She fell to her knees, gulping down breath after breath. It had all seemed so simple, godsdammit. Find Sarrész. Recover the jewel. Win her freedom and live quietly.

  She could almost laugh at her naivete. There was nothing about politics that could be simple.

  Tomorrow, Koszenmarc would transport her and Maté back to Vyros and Commander Maszny. A man who had his own reasons for taking them prisoner. Questioning would come first. After that, the execution.

  Outside her prison cell, far below, the surf crashed against the shore. A woman’s voice called out, answered by the higher piping of a boy’s from another point, then a louder halloo from directly outside the cave—guards and lookouts calling to one another. A reminder that Koszenmarc was taking every precaution.

  Damn him. Damn them all, Anna cursed.

  The other candles had guttered. One more remained. Anna reached to extinguish it, when she noticed a trunk that had not been there before.

  It did not take long to explore its contents. One pair of trousers and a sash. One shirt. No shoes. Two flasks of water and another of ale.

  Enough for one night and one day.

  Anna sat down heavily. Was it possible to get word to Raab? He had escaped both sets of enemies, she was certain of that. And though he might be indifferent to her and Maté’s fate, he was Hêr Lord Brun’s loyal man. He would hunt them down and free them, if only to make sure their mission did not fail.

  But only if she could get him word.

  She drained one flask of water, then exchanged her filthy clothes for clean ones and climbed into the hammock, which swung gently back and forth between the hooks.

  They said a person minded the dying only as long as it lasted. Once the soul took flight into the void, there came a period of blankness, of blessed forgetfulness, before the next life. Even then, even with memories and dreams of times that came before, no one had ever claimed to remember exactly the point when breath fled the body and the heart ceased beating. It was all conjecture, the subject of poetry and endless speculation by philosophers.

  Would it matter if I knew?

  Outside, a bell tolled from some distant point, and on its heels, the guards called to one another. She thought she recognized Nikolas’s high cheery call, and she wondered how he and his mother had come to serve Koszenmarc. Were they happy as killers and thieves, or had the life overtaken them by a series of unfortunate choices?

  As though I have the right to judge them. Me, with my own bad choices.

  Her thoughts drifted back and back and back. To Lord Brun. To that night, when he had summoned her to his rooms to take a letter for the couriers. How his glance had fallen upon her, nearly sliding away as it might slide over a passing dog or a chair. How that glance caught and held. His eyes had darkened, his expression changing from remote to intent and warm. How he had plucked the letter from her hands and let it drop to the floor before his fingers caressed her cheek. How her stomach had twisted into a knot and it had taken all her self-control not to struggle.

  Back and back, to her father, the memory of his face already blurred by the years. Of her mother, none at all.

  Outside, another bell, a whistle, another series of call to call to call from the guards.

  CHAPTER 8

  The dream began as an ordinary nightmare. She and Maté were aboard Koszenmarc’s ship once more, fleeing Vyros and the Imperial Navy. But this time, their pursuers overtook them. This time, Maszny and hundreds of his followers swarmed aboard. Just as Anna turned to face her enemy, the nightmare vanished…

  She stood on the deck of the double-hulled boat, braced against the swell. For ten days, the wind had failed them, and they pulled oars in shifts, from captain down to the youngest boys and girls. Now storm clouds bubbled on the horizon; the seas had turned dark, flecked with foam and ice, and the salt-stung air cut through her jacket. They’d come so far, had not lost a single ship, but their stores had sunk to almost nothing. Over the roar of the seas, she heard the chant of the crew, calling out to the gods, to Lir and Blind Toc, to bring them safe to shore.

  Her beloved wrapped an arm around her waist. He murmured the invocation to magic and the gods, and a pale yellow light rose into the air to light their way.

  * * * *

  Anna woke to the dawn’s grey light and the sensation of rocking to and fro.

  Her first thought was that she was back on the ship, locked in that dreadful cabin with no light except her magic, no air but what leaked through the ship’s sides. But then memory blinked and stuttered to life. The whisper of the ship’s passage became the crash of surf on the shore. The motion she felt was her hammock swinging in response to her own restless sleep.

  I am alive.

  That first burst of relief vanished in her next thought.

  Until tomorrow. Oh. Oh gods.

  She rolled over and tucked herself into a ball. She and Maté both were doomed. She wanted to curse Lord Brun for his ambition. Or herself for daring to dream of freedom.

  You have two choices when you face an opponent, her father once said. You can refuse to engage them in debate. Or you can fight them with all the logic and reason and passion you possess. Neither choice is automatically correct. Neither is automatically safe.

  Safe or not, death was a powerful motivation to do something.

  So get up and think, Anna.

  Anna levered herself from the hammock. Most of the cave lay in shadows, with only a faint grey light from the grotto’s entrance. She found the candle she had left by her hammock, but it had melted into a shapeless lump, with not even enough wick left for her to light it by magic. Just as well. Magic would only attract attention, and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

  She groped her way to the trunk with its provisions. One flask of water remained. She rinsed her mouth and swallowed. Her bones still ached from that long rattling gallop over the mountain, the even longer hours spent in that tiny cabin while the ship sped away from Vyros and the Imperial ships.

  A breeze sifted into the grotto, stirring up the thick air and cleansing away the scents of smoke and tallow. The sky outside had brightened, and a pale grey light spilled over the threshold. Anna crossed to the entrance and drank in the fresh cool air of dawn.

  All was still. All was quiet except for the endless surf. Above the stars had faded, each one blinking out as night retreated, but a scattering remained. This far south, she recognized none of the constellations except Lir’s Necklace, a string of bright points directly overhead that arced from the northeast. All the rest, the Crone, the Hunter, had shifted north and north since her long journey south from Duenne, until they had vanished altogether.

  A ripple broke the shadows off to her right. Anna flicked her gaze to the right, then the left. Just as she expected, she caught a glimpse of light reflected off metal, the familiar gesture of a hand reaching for its weapon.

  Guards. One on either side. Both alert and watching.


  That decided her.

  Anna cleared her throat. “I want an interview with your captain,” she announced. “I want Maté Kovács brought to that interview as well. Send word to your captain and tell him we must talk. Now.”

  Both shadows jerked to attention, but neither spoke. She waited.

  “He won’t like your tricks,” a woman off to her right said at last.

  Anna huffed. “In case you had not noticed, I have no tricks. If I did, I’d be a hundred miles away from this gods-be-damned island.”

  “A hundred miles would drop you in the open seas, or nearabout,” the other guard murmured. Her voice was low and amused. “But I see your point.”

  She gave a sharp whistle. Moments later a girl swung down the rope ladder and dropped onto the ledge. “Tell our captain our Lady Vrou wants a talk with him,” the guard told her. “Oh, and she says to bring the other one too.”

  The girl sent a curious glance in Anna’s direction. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she looked about fourteen or so, long-limbed and sturdy, with springy dark hair braided close to her skull and a sprinkling of freckles over her pale brown face. She said something in the island language to the guard, then sprang up on the ladder and was out of sight.

  Anna expelled a breath. Step one of a very long march.

  The guard who had whistled for the girl shook her head. “He might refuse you, you know.”

  “I know,” Anna said.

  Abruptly, she stalked back into her prison. She could not bear to look in their eyes and see pity. Pity might undo her.

  The days aboard the ship, the restless night in the grotto, had left her red-eyed and grimy. Anna scrubbed her face and hands with her precious store of water. She worked her fingers through the worst of the knots in her hair and rediscovered the ribbons and jewels set there by her maids, only a few days and a hundred years ago. She pocketed the jewels—they might make useful bribes—then gathered her hair in a loose plait. She had just finished when a thump sounded outside the entrance.

  “Lady Vrou,” one of the guards called. “You’ve got your wish. The captain says he has a few moments to spare.”