The icelands would be a better name for this country than the wetlands, Evan thought, especially in this cold season. He and his crew had traveled south to Spiritgate, hoping to avoid the snow-stuffed high passes by taking a more southerly road west, into the interior. Their chosen route led through the borderlands, skirting the southern flank of a massive peak that was hidden in cloud most of the time. The southerners called it the Harlot; the northerners, Mount Alyssa.
Alyssa. The name of a queen.
His Stormborn were all capable riders, at least. Carthis was a land of horselords and pirates, where people routinely climbed off a horse and stepped directly onto a ship. They’d bought cold-weather clothes and ponies in the markets on the coast before setting out for the capital city, Fellsmarch.
Still, the northern winds seemed to drive right through wool and leather. Snow and sleet stung their exposed skin like a sandstorm at home. Evan considered using his magic to improve the weather, but decided against it. It was one thing to stir up a favorable wind at sea. He did not understand this weather—or this terrain—and he worried that tampering with it might have unexpected consequences, like the dangerous snow slides they called “avalanches.” But, with every frustrating delay, Evan worried that the empress was launching her invasion of the wetland realms.
The seas had once seemed boundless, a place where a gifted pilot with a good ship could lose himself. Now all of his horizons seemed to be shrinking. Eventually, he’d be cornered.
Celestine’s words came back to him, from the day they’d first met, when she and Captain Strangward were arguing about the magemarked.
They’re mine. They are a part of the Nazari line. They were created for a purpose, and it’s time they served.
That was the most honesty he’d ever had from her. Usually, her words were as sweet as prickly pear jelly. The empress always looked at Evan with a mixture of greed, lust, envy, and desire. The only thing missing was love.
The sea had always offered him the illusion of freedom, but now it was dissipating like a wetland mist.
Some nights, despite his exhaustion, he played the game of Where is she now? Other nights, it was memories of Destin that kept him awake.
Evan had left Destin behind in Ardenscourt. The soldier had claimed that he could be of more use to Evan in the capital than at his side. How was he faring in that nest of vipers to the south? Had he made any headway in persuading the boy king that the empress in the east was a greater danger than the queen in the north?
I don’t want you to be of use to me, Evan thought, for the hundredth time. I want you to forget about me. I want you to kill that monster of a father, leave Arden, and find another house by the sea. I want you to be happy.
Yet he couldn’t help wishing they were facing these challenges together. It would be worth it, even for a short while.
It seemed that the fates had decreed that he go through life alone.
The heavily fortified border town of Delphi seethed with activity. Word had come that the northern passes had finally opened, and the traders, brokers, and travelers who had been bottled up there all winter prepared to journey on. The coal mines and foundries of the queendom had been producing all winter, and now wagon after wagon took the road north. Evan and his party joined a band of travelers on horseback with a weatherbeaten upland trader to serve as guide.
It was a good military road, when it wasn’t chin deep in snow, with stone and steel bridges where it crossed and recrossed the rivers and streams roaring with snowmelt. Every night, travelers packed into bare-bones lodges situated a day’s ride apart. First arrivals claimed the bunks that lined the walls. The less fortunate slept shoulder to shoulder on the floor. One night, a blinding snowstorm gave notice that winter wasn’t quite finished in these mountains. The next day, teams of ponies dragged huge blades over the road, scraping the deep snow away. The tracks of wolves were everywhere, and their howling sometimes woke Evan in the night. Even with so much company on the road, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he and his crew were being watched, every step of the way, by malevolent eyes.
As their journey neared its end, they encountered small bands of uplanders, men and women, hair done up in braids, and armed to the teeth. This, apparently, was how the north welcomed newcomers. After a long conversation with their guide, and a hostile look-over, they were allowed to move on.
At long last, one afternoon they rounded a shoulder of a massive peak to see the Vale spread out before them. The clouds they’d seen earlier had cleared somewhat as the day warmed, though steam rose from several large fissures in the near distance. Here, the air was noticeably warmer, and moist, with a faint scent of sulfur. The valley was amazingly green, for late winter. A river cut through the Vale, tumbling out of the mountains in a series of waterfalls. At the north end of the Vale, snuggled against the mountains, was the city of Fellsmarch. Their destination.
They descended into the Vale, striking north across the relatively flat terrain. As they drew closer to Fellsmarch, Evan could see that the builders had made good use of the materials all around them. It was a city built of stone—but a very different stone from what Evan was used to. At home, buildings were built of buff-colored sandstone and stucco. Here, there was more variety—sandstone, yes, but also granites and limestone. The town itself was a warren of steep, twisting cobbled streets, with scarcely a level place big enough to pitch a tent unless it was in the middle of the Way. The skyline boasted a number of pretty spires—temples, probably.
Evan had half-expected to see mages everywhere, but there were few abroad on the streets of the capital. On the positive side of the ledger, he saw no sign that the bloodsworn had infiltrated this far inland. As other travelers peeled off to individual destinations, Evan spurred ahead so that he could converse with their guide, a man of few words and fewer smiles.
“Where are all the mages?” Evan said as they turned onto a cobbled street that ran next to the river.
“They tend to stay on Gray Lady,” the trader said, motioning toward a peak to the north with its head in the clouds. “They only descend into the Vale for business and politics.”
Ahead, the graceful stone towers of a palace rose from high banks next to the river. Evan took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. The wolf queen within represented what might be his last hope for alliance and sanctuary.
Their guide directed them to an inn he knew, just outside the castle close, then took his leave.
Now that they were in the capital, Evan considered the best way to connect with the Fellsian authorities. He’d told everyone along the road that they were emissaries from Carthis, representing shipbuilders, merchants, and smugglers who hoped to do business with the queendom. But he worried whether that device would be enough to earn him a face-to-face with a queen grappling with the demands of an endless war. He needed to speak with her directly. It wouldn’t do to be handed off to a quartermaster or castle steward.
That evening, he was sitting in the common room of the inn with Teza and Brody, debating his next move, when a young woman entered, bringing with her a blast of snow and cold and the unmistakable blue-white glow of magery. She drew his attention for other reasons, too. She looked more like a pirate than anyone he’d seen in the wetlands. Her hair was dyed black streaked with blue, and her exposed skin was layered in tattoos and piercings. Her skin might have been fair underneath, but it was burnt by sun and wind.
She also looked beaten down, exhausted, and sad, like the only survivor of a catastrophe.
She looked around the taproom, her gaze lighting briefly on Evan and his two companions. Dropping her hat and gloves on the table next to theirs, she elbowed her way through the crowd at the bar.
“You’re still here, Captain?” the barkeep said, turning toward the kegs lining the wall without waiting for an order. “I thought you’d left yesterday.”
“The queen asked me to stay a little longer,” the woman said. “She’s still—she needed—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “She still had some questions she wanted answered before I go.”
Evan came instantly alert. This chance encounter might be a stroke of luck. This captain, whoever she was, could be his connection to the queen.
The barkeep plunked two brimming cups down in front of her. “Too bad,” he said. “I know you’re anxious to get back to your ship.”
Even better, she was a mariner, maybe even a privateer working for the queen.
“At least maybe the weather’ll be better when I head to the coast,” she said, pulling out her purse.
The barkeep shook his head. “On the house,” he said. “We all appreciate what you’re doing, ma’am.”
Evan watched her carry the cups to her table and settle heavily into her seat. He raised his cup. “Fair winds, following seas, and a safe harbor at journey’s end,” he said in Common. It was the traditional sailor’s blessing.
She turned and studied him, her eyes narrowed. Then took in Teza and Brody as well. “And the same to you.” She turned back to her ale.
“We are merchants from Carthis,” Evan said. “We are on our way to meet with your queen to discuss the possibility of trade between our countries.”
“Merchants, are you?” The captain raised an eyebrow.
“Sort of,” Evan said, turning his cup between his hands.
“You look like a wizard to me,” she said, using the northern term.
“Sort of,” Evan said again.
“And a pirate.”
“Sort of.” He laughed. “Since you brought it up, you look a bit like a pirate yourself.”
This time, he managed to break through her brusque resistance. “I’m not a pirate,” she said, “but I am a ship’s captain.” She extended her hand. “I’m Hadley DeVilliers.”
Her name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it. He gripped her hand, and the sting of magic flowed between them. “Lucky Faris.”
“Faris?” Her grip tightened before she let go. “I was thinking of a different name.”
“You must be thinking of a different pirate,” Evan said, meeting her gaze.
“Really?” she said. “I could have sworn that you were Evan Strangward, known as the Stormcaster of the Indio.”
Brody and Teza shifted in their seats, their hands sliding toward their weapons. DeVilliers noticed—he knew she did—but pretended not to.
Evan ran his finger around the rim of his glass, playing for time. Of course she would figure it out, being a mage, and a ship’s captain. There weren’t that many pirates with auras.
“Congratulations, Captain, you’ve found me out.” Evan swallowed down his ale and signaled the bartender for another. “I hope that doesn’t ruin our nascent friendship.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t talk like any pirate I’ve ever met,” she said.
“That’s because you’ve never met a pirate like me,” Evan said.
“You’re a long way from the ocean, Stormcaster,” DeVilliers said. “Where’s your ship?” She looked around the room, as if he might have hung it on a hook by the door.
“Actually, I seem to be without a ship at the moment,” Evan said.
“Ah,” she said, shaking her head. “A shipless pirate? There’s nothing sadder—or more dangerous—than that.”
“What about you? What’s your ship?”
“The Sea Wolf. She sails out of Chalk Cliffs. Have you heard of her?”
Evan nearly choked on his cider. Then checked their surroundings to see if she’d brought any crew with her. She had not. It was just the four of them, so he had the numbers.
“I take it you have,” she said, her eyes crinkling in amusement.
The Sea Wolf was the sleek, three-masted flagship of the Fellsian navy. It was the bane of pirates and Ardenine warships alike. Its captain was known as one of the savviest masters afloat.
It was just his luck that he’d run into the chief officer of the Fellsian navy in a mountain town. A naval officer who looked like a pirate. One of the few wetlanders who would recognize him.
She tilted her chin up. “Now that we’ve been introduced, I have a question. I’ve heard rumors about your Stormborn crew—that they are fierce fighters with reddish auras.” She pointed at Teza and Brody. “Here is living proof. What does it mean, and how do they get that way?”
Evan shrugged, downplaying it. “It simply indicates that they are sworn to me.”
“I’m sworn to the Gray Wolf queen, but I’ve not grown furry ears,” DeVilliers said, running a hand through her hair as if to verify. “So these Stormborn—they are not wizards?”
Evan thought of describing them as made mages, but that would naturally spawn questions as to exactly how they were made, which was territory he didn’t want to get into. Blood magery was not a topic he wanted to raise on a first meeting.
“Not exactly. I suppose you could say that they are mages with specialized gifts.”
DeVilliers cocked her head, as if still puzzled. “Such as?”
“They are fierce fighters,” Evan said. “Very difficult to kill.”
He deflected three more questions before the Fellsian captain realized that he’d said all he was going to say on that topic. That didn’t mean that she was out of questions.
“So you’re from Carthis,” she mused. “Tell me, have you ever heard of a musical instrument called a ‘jafasa’?”
Evan could not fathom why this captain would be asking this particular question at this particular time. He nodded. “They are traditional instruments used by the horselords of Carthis, because they are light and portable. They are rare these days, because they are so difficult to play.”
DeVilliers toyed with a small dagger, flipping it and catching it in a way that might cost anyone else a finger. “Are they . . . magical at all?”
“Only in that they are good for making the time pass more quickly,” Evan said.
“You’ve explained these red mages. Tell me, have you ever seen a mage with an amulet embedded in his skin?”
This time, at least, Evan was somewhat prepared for the verbal cannonball. Still, it was all he could do to maintain his relaxed stance, to resist taking hold of his amulet and fighting his way out of the room. Evan sensed Teza and Brody shifting their weight, leaning forward, preparing to fight or flee.
He conjured up a puzzled frown. “Are you speaking of someone in particular? Someone you have seen or heard of?” Was someone asking about magemarks recently?
“I . . . I’ve heard about it and wondered if it was true,” DeVilliers said.
As a liar, she had a long way to go.
Sticking with bewilderment, he said, “Is it supposed to be something that was done intentionally, or was it the result of a horrible accident?”
She laughed. “I just wondered if you’d seen that before, is all.” After a pause, she fortunately changed the subject. “Is my queen expecting you?”
Evan considered lying, but decided that might lead to trouble later on. “No,” he said.
“Why would she want to meet with you? What kind of trade are you proposing?”
Maybe it was because Evan knew that she didn’t believe his cover story. Maybe it was because she seemed like a kindred spirit. But he found himself telling the truth.
Sort of.
“Actually, the most important thing I have to offer is information and a possible alliance,” Evan said.
“An alliance with a notorious pirate without a ship?” DeVilliers laughed. “That seems like a good way to end with your throat cut and your purse stolen.”
“I have ships at home,” Evan said, growing testy in spite of himself. “We sail both the Desert Coast and the wetland coast from the Southern Islands to Invaders Bay. Your navy is small, and stretched thin. There’s no reason we cannot travel with a full hold both ways.”
“So you’ll sell us goods and then steal from us?”
“Frankly, the takings are better farther south,” Evan said. “Everything we steal from Arden helps you. Plus, we can alert you to dangers that you might not anticipate.” Evan stopped with that.
DeVilliers was giving him a close look-over, too. Finally, she seemed to have come to a decision.
“I will see the queen tomorrow, and will let her know about your desire for a meeting.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Evan said. “I hope you’ll let her know how much I—”
“I’ll make no promises. This is a bad time to request an audience. I’ll send a message to you here at the inn if I’m able to arrange something.”
Evan wanted to go on, to tell this navy captain about the danger bearing down on Chalk Cliffs, especially because she was bent on returning there. But he couldn’t risk it. She did, after all, look like a pirate. There was no telling who she really sailed for.
After all, Tully Samara sailed for Latham Strangward. Until he didn’t.