Corporal Talbot’s timely arrival was both a blessing and a curse, as far as Evan was concerned. The news about the attack on Chalk Cliffs supported parts of the story that Evan was telling, but it also meant that his warning had come too late. The fact that Celestine already had a foothold in the east made him feel crowded. It made him want to keep traveling west until he reached the edge of the world. And maybe jump off.
It also meant that his movements were limited now. It didn’t help that he and his crew were locked up together in a suite of rooms. It was like being penned in with a pack of nervous cats. Not even the ritual of tay would settle their nerves.
He wondered if Destin knew about the attack on Chalk Cliffs. If he didn’t, he would hear about it before long. Would that make Evan’s job easier or harder?
Evan was almost grateful when the wetlanders called him into the queen’s small hall for questioning. His crew, not so much.
“What if you never come back?” Brody said, shifting from foot to foot in his agitation. “What will become of us?”
“We should fight our way out,” Jorani said, producing a dagger from some hidden place. Evan half-expected her to come up with a bow and a quiver of arrows and a trebuchet as well.
“If we try to fight our way out, I will be killed, and you won’t,” Evan said. He brushed at his fine breeches, which by now were looking less fine. “How is that helpful?”
She seemed stumped by that question. After a moment’s pause, she stowed the blade away.
The bloodsworn turned Stormborn were the fiercest, most loyal crew he’d ever known, but they were like children in some ways. They could be led, but they weren’t skilled at making decisions on their own.
Celestine probably likes it that way, he thought, but I don’t. I could use a little help.
When Evan arrived at the small hall, his interrogators were waiting for him. All the faces were at least marginally familiar. The wolf queen. Captain Byrne. The queen’s niece, Lady Barrett. The queen’s sister, the princess Mellony. Lord Bayar, the High Wizard. Hadley DeVilliers. The upland mage, Shadow Dancer. Corporal Talbot, who’d brought the news of the fall of Chalk Cliffs. And, of course, the healer—Prince Adrian sul’Han, who sat in the corner nearest the hearth, his face in and out of shadow.
In Ardenscourt, sul’Han had always worn drab healer’s colors, so it was a bit of a shock to see him dressed in velvets and satin. The prince had his mother’s eyes, with a bit more blue in them, and a hint of her coppery complexion below his coppery hair.
Evan was beginning to realize that there was no way to win over the queen if he didn’t win over the healer. Sul’Han was the son of the queen, after all, and blood trumps everything else. Even if she believed what Evan had to say, when it came to a choice, she would choose her own blood. That was the way the world worked.
But winning over the healer was going to be like climbing a mountain from deep underground. It would help considerably if Evan could convince him that Jenna was still alive.
Talbot opened the session with a brisk overview of what had happened in Chalk Cliffs. It was all too familiar.
“This is what the empress does,” Evan said. “For the past five years, she has been systematically winning the free cities of the Desert Coast. First, infiltration by her bloodsworn. Then, the taking of the port, the off-loading of her armies, and an invasion that extends her control as far as the Dragonbacks. Here, let me show you.” He’d brought his maps along, and he laid them out on the table and traced the backbone of Carthis from north to south.
“Where is her stronghold?” Captain Byrne leaned over the map.
“Here.” Evan unfurled another map, an older one, of the Northern Islands at the time that they were conquered by the Nazari family. “I found this in your temple library,” he said. “I assume this was brought here by some of those who fled Nazari rule eons ago. It’s out of date, but the geography should be the same.”
He turned the map so that Byrne could get a better look. “For years, the Northern Islands have been battered by storms that made it difficult even to approach the shoreline,” he said. “In recent years, the weather has seemingly improved. Celestine has been rebuilding the ancient Nazari capital of Celesgarde on one of the Weeping Sisters—I’m not sure which one.”
“The Weeping Sisters?” The queen cocked her head. “I’m not familiar with those.”
“They are three islands in the Northern Islands that are known for volcanic activity—like many of the mountains in the Fells. I’ve not been there, but I would expect that the defenses would be formidable.”
The healer watched silently throughout the geography lesson, taking notes, the scratch of his quill audible now and then when the conversation died.
“The empress’s ships carried off dozens of prisoners,” Barrett said, “including one of our best officers. Based on past practice, where would she take them and what—what does she intend to do with them?”
Evan looked from face to face, seeking clues. The atmosphere in the room was fraught, full of tension, unstable, seething with secrets. It reminded Evan of when a storm was about to break, the clouds piling up, the air so thick with electricity that it was difficult to breathe.
“Would this officer be Captain Gray?” he said.
The whole room flinched—all except the healer, who went very, very still.
“What do you know about Captain Gray?” Barrett said.
“Just a guess,” Evan said disarmingly. “At the reception, Queen Raisa mentioned that a Captain Gray was at Chalk Cliffs, and expressed concerns about his safety. And now, it seems, all your worst fears have come true.”
From the looks on their faces, he’d struck a vein.
Who is this Captain Gray, and why is he so important?
“So,” Byrne said, breaking the silence, “going back to Lady Barrett’s earlier question . . . ?”
“She might very well take prisoners to Celesgarde,” Evan said. “On the other hand, she controls most of the Desert Coast, now, so it’s difficult to say. It would depend on how she intends to . . . use them. Most of her prisoners go directly into her bloodsworn army.”
“What does that mean, bloodsworn?” Talbot wore an expression of sick dread.
“They are bound to the empress in a blood ritual,” Evan said.
This was met with a collective shudder. Sul’Han ran a finger over his forearm, as if tracing a memory. He exchanged glances with the queen.
“Have you heard of an order of bloodthirsty priests called the Darian Brothers?” Queen Raisa asked abruptly. “Is there a connection?”
“Not to my knowledge, no,” Evan said. “I’ve not heard of them.”
That, at least, seemed to be the right answer.
“Your crewman Brody says that he was bloodsworn, and you ‘freed’ him,” Bayar said, speaking up for the first time. “Does that mean there is a way to undo the blood-magic charm once it’s cast?”
Evan struggled to come up with an answer. “I don’t know that you can undo it. Celestine doesn’t let go of anything easily. But it seems that you can replace it with something else. That’s what I did with the Stormborn. That is why their auras are red instead of purple.”
“So you are a blood mage also,” Bayar said, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“Apparently, yes.”
They all looked at one another. After a moment, Barrett cleared her throat and made a show of consulting her notes. “Why is the empress interested in the magemarked, as you call them?”
The questioning continued, covering much of the same ground as in his earlier meeting with them. Didn’t anyone take notes? He supposed that now they had more reason to be interested in what he had to say. Or maybe this repeat was for Talbot’s and the healer’s benefit. Talbot asked a few questions, but the healer remained silent. Evan kept looking at him, waiting for him to weigh in, make a face, dispute something he said, or provide additional information, but he didn’t.
That’s when Evan realized—the queen must have told sul’Han to keep quiet. Was it because she was angry with her son? Or was the intent to—what was the expression?—give Evan enough rope to hang himself?
“How is it that you are the only holdout along the Desert Coast?”
Evan wrenched himself back to the interrogation, realizing that Barrett had just asked him a question.
“I have built a fortified stronghold,” Evan said. “And I am one of only a few gifted ship’s masters that are left. That gives me an advantage. But I am under no illusion that we can hold out forever. I have to go to sea in order to make a living.”
“By attacking our ships and stealing our goods,” the queen said.
“It’s nothing personal,” Evan said. “We steal from everyone, northerner and southerner, Desert Coast and wetland coast. We are equal opportunity brigands in that regard.”
This was met with stony silence, finally broken by the queen.
“For the next series of questions, I’ve asked Lord Bayar to take over the questioning, and use persuasion. Are you familiar with that?”
Evan sat up straighter. Persuasion? Was that the wetland word for torture? “I am not,” he admitted, his mouth dry. “Could you, perhaps, explain?”
“I’ll use magic to ensure that your answers are true,” Bayar said. “Don’t worry,” he added. “It’s not painful, but I would ask you not to do anything to interfere with it.”
“I wouldn’t know how,” Evan said, busily sorting through the secrets he wanted to keep. He should be all right, assuming a partial truth would be enough.
He and the High Wizard sat on either side of a small table and Bayar gripped his hands. Magic flowed from the wizard’s hands to his own. Evan had expected that it might be similar to the sensation of rum or blue ruin running down his throat. Or that it might be painful, despite the high wizard’s assurances. But no. It was more like a cold river running through Evan’s veins that eventually disappeared as it mingled with his blood, leaving no trace behind.
Bayar frowned, looking down at their joined hands. Then said, “Prince Adrian has told us that he met you in Ardenscourt this winter. Why did you go there?”
Evan glanced at the healer, who sat in shadow, fingers laced, his chin resting on his hands. He offered no clues.
“I went there to prevent the empress Celestine from making a deal with the king of Arden.”
“How did you know that such a deal was on the table?”
Evan hesitated. “I had a source in Ardenscourt who sent word to me.”
“So this plan was common knowledge in the Ardenine capital?” Barrett raised an eyebrow. “None of my eyes and ears reported that.”
“It was not well known,” Evan said. “My source is close to the king, and was involved in the negotiations.” He was watching the healer when he said that. Sul’Han straightened, as if he’d finally heard something he didn’t already know. He waited for Bayar to ask who his source was, and the High Wizard didn’t disappoint.
“Who was this source who was close to the king?”
Evan had no intention of giving Destin away. “I would rather not say. It would put this person in grave danger.”
“Don’t worry,” Bayar said. “What is said here stays here. You can speak freely.”
Evan could continue to object, but that would be the same as saying “I don’t trust you,” and that wouldn’t advance his diplomatic agenda. So he found himself lying, and then waiting to be struck dead. Or at least called on it. “It was Queen Marina,” he said. “We met once, when I boarded her ship in the Southern Islands. I must have made a good impression.”
They all looked at each other, faces full of doubt.
“Well,” the queen said, glancing at the healer. “I suppose it’s possible. She is a Tomlin, after all.”
Bayar still looked puzzled. With a faint shake of his head, he tightened his grip so that the pressure was almost painful. “Why didn’t you want this deal to go forward?”
“I did not want the empress’s influence to spread farther than it already has,” Evan said. “Trust me—you don’t want Celestine for a neighbor.”
Bayar abruptly let go of Evan’s hands. “Something’s wrong,” he said flatly.
Barrett leaned forward. “With—? Do you mean that he’s not telling the truth?”
“I have no idea if he’s telling the truth,” Bayar said. “I don’t think it’s working.” He turned back to Evan. “Are you blocking me? Because if you are—”
“I’m not blocking you,” Evan said. “How could I? You took my amulet. Besides, as I already said, I wouldn’t know how.”
“It’s in your best interest to cooperate,” the queen said to Evan.
“I am not trying to interfere with the High Wizard’s magic. The truth serves me as well as you.”
The High Wizard rubbed the back of his neck, his expression making it clear that he didn’t believe him.
“Doesn’t persuasion work on you?” Queen Raisa said.
Evan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never . . . submitted to this kind of magic before.”
Sul’Han was staring at Evan now, eyes narrowed, as if he’d had some kind of epiphany. He leaned over and whispered something to Shadow Dancer, who nodded.
“Well,” the queen said briskly, “we’ve been at this a good while already. Perhaps we should—”
“Let me try,” Prince Adrian said.
Suddenly, the healer was the center of attention.
Queen Raisa shook her head. “I was about to say that perhaps we should recess for now and review what—”
“I promise I won’t hurt him, Mother,” the healer said, those remarkable blue-green eyes fixed on Evan. “But I believe I can get at the truth.”
“Lord Bayar is as capable as any wizard in the realm when it comes to interrogation,” the queen said, her voice low and furious.
Now the healer looked at Evan. “Do you object?” he said.
Sweat trickled between Evan’s shoulder blades, but he shrugged and said, “Why not?”
The prince swapped places with the High Wizard. Sul’Han sat across the table from Evan, shook back the sleeves of his jacket, reached across, and gripped his hands. The prince’s hands were strong, callused, buzzing with energy. There came that same cold current as before, though perhaps a bit more . . . intuitive. Then the prince said, “What’s that on the back of your neck?”
Evan’s heart plummeted to his toes, and his palms grew slippery with sweat. They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like a lifetime.
Outed, Evan thought. But how? He’d made sure to keep his neck under cover. He said nothing aloud.
“Lord Bayar,” Prince Adrian said, his grip tightening on Evan’s hands, pinning them in place. “Could you examine the back of Strangward’s neck and tell us what you see?”
Evan heard the wizard’s robes rustle as he crossed to where he could stand behind him. He could feel Bayar’s fingers brushing his skin, raising gooseflesh as the wizard swept his hair aside. It reminded him of that day in Montaigne’s palace at Ardenscourt, when he’d done the same to Jenna Bandelow in front of an audience of gawkers.
What goes around comes around, he thought. What you cast into the waves often washes up on your own private beach.
He heard Bayar’s dry, amused voice. “It would appear to be a metal-and-stone badge, like an embedded amulet,” he said, his breath warming the back of Evan’s neck. “I assume that it is what we have been calling a magemark.”
Evan heard chairs scraping, the sound of feet padding across the floor as they all had their look. He kept his eyes on the healer, who wore a trace of a smile.
“I think now would be a good time to have a recess,” the healer said.