Blackveil

Amberhill put Stevic G’ladheon and everything else about his former life to the back of his mind as he took in the harbor and ocean beyond. He was answering a calling, a calling to sail the ocean, to seek mysteries beyond the horizon, and there was no way of knowing if he’d ever return.

By the second day of the voyage, Amberhill just wanted to return to dry land. No, he reflected, he just wanted to die. He hung limply over the rail, arms swinging with the motion of the ship. He did best with his eyes closed. Yap had urged him to watch the horizon, but it did not help. Nor did the candied ginger, hard biscuits, or tea Yap brought him. All of that and more ended up in the sea, leaving behind a vile taste in his mouth. There should not be anything left in his stomach, but the wooziness threatened a fresh surge over the rail.

Amberhill was born and raised an inlander, but he’d boarded Ullem Queen confidently and enjoyed the breeze and scenery of Corsa Harbor. He’d sighted a pod of harbor porpoise, and gulls wheeling at the sterns of fishing boats, looking for offal and castoffs. He admired the lines of a naval vessel slicing through harbor waters like a rapier and guessed at what was stored in the kettle-bottomed hulls of merchant ships. The Ullem Queen specialized in tobacco from the Under Kingdoms. Normally he found the fragrance of the leaf pleasant, but in his current state, just the mere thought of certain scents sent him reeling to the rail.

Yes, he’d been fine till they passed beneath the shadowy remains of a keep perched on an island headland overlooking the entrance to the harbor. Once out of the protected harbor and on the open bay, the swells grew and almost in an instant Amberhill went from composed aristocratic gentleman to a retching, sickly commoner. He’d supposed himself immune to seasickness. After all, he was Lord Amberhill and had been the Raven Mask, scaler of high walls and master thief. The gods were showing him what they thought of that, by literally bringing him to his knees.

The only thing that appeared to help was following Yap’s advice to stay on deck in the fresh air, away from the fragrant cargo and the stench of other ill passengers.

Amberhill moaned. He’d asked Yap if the sickness would soon pass. All Yap could tell him was that for some it did. For others? Some never acclimated. Amberhill feared he was among the latter.

As for Yap himself, he was right at home among the crew and had, Amberhill noticed, taken to padding about the decks in his bare feet. His remedies had not worked, but he kept checking on his employer.

Amberhill cracked open crusty, salt-rimmed eyes and the turmoil of waves almost sent him into a vortex of nausea again, but he noticed how the ruby of his dragon ring shone in the sunlight, brighter than he’d ever seen it before. Each facet had its own hue of red—the richness of velvet, the gleam of deep wine, the brightness of fresh blood.

As he gazed at the ruby, everything came into sharp focus in his mind. There was no longer the roiling drop and heave of the ocean, but a solid deck beneath him and a steady horizon. His stomach ceased its torment. His mind began to work with the motion of the waves, or at least that was the way he thought of it.

Some strength began to flow into flaccid limbs. He rose unsteadily at first but then gained confidence, as if he’d always instinctively known how to maintain his footing on board a ship.

“Sir? Are ya all right?” Yap asked, practically leaping across the deck to him.

Amberhill grinned. “Much better. In fact, I’m actually hungry.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll see what cook has on.”

Yap padded off, and Amberhill clasped his hands behind his back, and took in the clear sky and blue-green water anew. The world was looking like a much better place now. Something about his ring had righted him, given him his sea legs—and his sea stomach.

He felt freshly born and like he could conquer the world. He liked the idea, and smiled.

EQUINOX

Laren struggled to keep up with Zachary, as did his secretary, Cummings, and his other aides. He stormed from one meeting to the next. During the meetings themselves he was curt, decisive, and restless, cutting them short when he’d had enough. Then they were off again, leaving behind flabbergasted officials, ambassadors, and courtiers.

Laren found the truncated sessions refreshing, but she wasn’t sure it was doing much for diplomacy.

As Zachary swept down corridors on his way to his next appointment, Laren practically had to run to keep up with his long strides. Even Colin was looking a little pink in the cheeks and his expression was one of consternation at his liege’s mood. Sperren would not have had a chance. The old man was in the mending wing with a broken hip, having fallen upon rising from bed this morning. Ben, she knew, was tending the elderly castellan with his special ability. In the meantime, Colin had taken on Sperren’s duties.

“Don’t you think you should talk to him?” Colin asked, striding beside her. “Do you suppose he’s upset about Sperren?”

“I expect it’s more than that,” Laren replied. In fact, she had a good idea of what had gotten into him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Colin looked relieved.

Laren worked her way forward through the various aides and courtiers hastening after Zachary to reach his side. She touched his sleeve and said, “Can I have a word with you?”

He came to such an abrupt halt that all who followed had to skid to a stop. Laren found herself several paces beyond him.

His expression was set, dangerous, ready for anger. “Well?”

“Privately, Your Highness,” she said.