The whispers spoke with a voice like winter, brittle and cracking. They were a woman, a man, a child, a crone. Impossible to pin down. He shivered as they returned, rising to a howl inside his head.
It is hidden! he wanted to shout, his jaw clenched tight. The cold played along his ribs.
It must not be spoken of.
His teeth gnashed. I said nothing of it. Not to anyone. Not even the Queen, he answered. It felt like madness. It could be madness, born of slaughter and sorrow.
The voices had first come on the road home, with the Elder stallion beneath him and the Spindleblade lashed to his saddle. He nearly fell from the horse but pushed on, trying to outrun what was already in his head. No matter how far or how fast he rode, they never left him behind.
There was laughter and sadness in the whispers, both in equal measure. This you are bidden, they hissed, letting the words carry over him. Keep it hidden.
Andry wanted to brush the voices away but remained pressed against the wall. He would not break his silent vigil, keeping watch over his ailing mother.
And the Spindleblade concealed beneath her bed, a secret to all but Andry Trelland.
3
BETWEEN THE DRAGON
AND THE UNICORN
Corayne
After two glasses of wine, Corayne’s head felt light. Her mind spun, already dreaming of lands beyond Lemarta. The palisade cities of the Jyd, raider country. Nkona and the Bay of Marvels. Almasad, the grand port of Ibal, home to the largest fleet in the realm. She shook her head and nudged her cup away, sliding it over a familiar, greasy table in the corner of the Sea Queen. The seden bar was named long before the time of Captain an-Amarat, but everyone liked to pretend it was named for her.
Meliz looked the part, sprawled in the corner with her back to the wall and her smile to the room. The candlelight gleamed in her hair, crowning her with rubies. Kastio sat by the door to the street, surrounded by sailors and townspeople alike. With the captain returned, he had no cause to nanny Corayne. He swayed, his lightning-blue eyes lidded, a half-empty glass in hand. The crew were well into their cups of wine and flagons of ale. Their voices filled the common room, their bronzed and sunburned bodies crammed into the narrow space. Most needed a wash. Corayne didn’t mind. Stinking sailors were better than another lonely evening.
She studied them. The Tempestborn picked up two new recruits on the voyage. White-faced twins from the Jyd, barely older than she, but tall and broad, of raider blood.
Two gained, four lost, Corayne thought. Faces swam before her eyes, crew she would never see again.
Four dead.
She heaved a breath, the wine turning to courage in her belly. “Mother—”
“Put out the word I’m looking for oarsmen,” Meliz interrupted, swirling her glass.
Her demand caught Corayne off guard. She blinked, confused. “We’ve at least two weeks before we need to prepare for another run, and we can do that shorthanded if need be.”
Short sails in easy water, running light and quick routes along the coast. Corayne knew the voyages of the Tempestborn too well and planned around them as best she could. The summer runs are without much danger. Good to learn on.
Meliz’s grin slid, a mask coming undone. “Strong backs, good rhythm, no fuss.”
“For what destination? For when?” Changes in schedule meant mistakes, greater risk. And it threw her own plans into disarray.
“Are you my mother now?” Meliz teased, but her voice was sharp. “Just make sure they’re good recruits. I’ve no need for wide-eyed imbeciles looking for an adventure, chasing a Spindle story or a fairy tale or plain old glory on the Long Sea.”
Corayne flushed. Her voice dropped. “Where are you going, Mother?”
“They have a tendency to die, and die disappointed,” Meliz muttered, pulling at her wine.
“Since when have you minded losing crew?” Corayne snapped, half to herself. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, unfair and unwise. She wanted to call them back as soon as they passed her lips.
“I always mind, Corayne,” Meliz said coldly.
“Where are you going?”
“The winds look to be favorable.”
“The winds will still be favorable in a month’s time.”
Meliz looked to the windows, in the direction of the Sea, and Corayne felt lost.
“The Jaiah of Rhashir has finally died, leaving sixteen sons to war for his throne. Some say he died of his age or illness. Some say he was murdered. Either way, the conflict makes things easier for us. It is a good opportunity,” Meliz said firmly and quickly. As if the words needed only be spoken to become true.