Kjell went back after daylight to retrieve his saddle and his bags from Lucian’s body. He brought Isak, Jerick and Sasha with him—unwilling to let her out of his sight—leaving the rest of his men with strict instructions to prepare the party to depart. They would need to maneuver the wagons along the river banks until they could cut back through the woods that separated them from the road through Corvyn.
His bags had been rifled through, his possessions scattered, the extra gold he carried missing.
He cared more about his horse.
The act was more defiance and disdain than theft, and as Kjell loosened the bridle and pulled the saddle from Lucian’s body, he was consumed by an outrage that muted his grief.
Sasha gathered his strewn belongings with tragic eyes, filling the bags that Jerick slung over his shoulders, and then they stood back as Isak turned Lucian’s remains into ash. The stink of singed hair and scorched flesh tinged the air and made their eyes tear and their throats ache, but Kjell couldn’t bear to simply walk away without disposing of his friend. He didn’t speak of the Changer, of the threat that he didn’t completely understand, and he let the others believe Lucian had been a victim of his own fright and a forest filled with hungry creatures.
In the days that followed, Kjell hovered near Sasha, sleeping on his sword, ignoring Padrig’s pointed attempts to act as chaperone. Kjell had commandeered another soldier’s horse and assigned the man to ride shotgun in the blacksmith’s wagon. Sasha rode the grey beside him—as silent as she’d been in the first days out of Solemn—as they hugged the mountains that dipped down into Kilmorda. From a distance, the green stretch of land and rolling hills, dotted by villages too far away to examine, looked serene and promised peace. But the peace was hollow, the space stripped, and had they traveled inland, deeper into the valleys that lined the sea, they would have seen the piled bones and the empty villages, the scattered nests and the scars of war that left Kilmorda a verdant wasteland.
Eight days after leaving Jeru City, they smelled the sea and descended into the town sitting on the bay that shared its name, a place that had escaped the Volgar wave but had absorbed thousands of fleeing Kilmordians. As a result, Brisson had grown, spreading to the east—away from Kilmorda—and to the south, climbing into the foothills of the vast Corvar range.
After the cargo was loaded and the horses corralled, waiting to be loaded in the bowels of the ship for the week-long journey, the wagons were broken down into pieces that would be reassembled on the shores of Dendar. Ten chests of Dendar treasure had been loaded aboard the two ships as well, and Kjell knew better than to entrust the bounty with a group of sailors or a ship’s captain hired by Lord Corvyn. Kjell’s men took shifts on the docks, and the rest of the travelers made use of the marketplace and the public baths, making final preparations for the journey to a land that might offer few comforts and fewer guarantees.
Lord Corvyn, under Tiras’s instructions, had arranged lodging for the queen, Padrig, and members of the King’s Guard at an inn overlooking the docks and the two ships bound for Dendar. The lodgings were clean, the innkeeper gracious, and the food plentiful, if plain. But Kjell had no desire to stay at the inn. He wanted to spend the night on the docks with his men, free of the memories of an inn in Enoch and the first time he’d kissed Sasha, but he slept on Sasha’s floor, though the two maids sleeping in the small adjoining chamber gave him some reassurance in numbers.
A sense of desperate celebration broke out, and as the night wore on the atmosphere in the inn’s tavern grew more and more merry. The men coming in from the docks were loudly appreciative of a pretty wench with a lovely voice and bountiful breasts. She sang sad songs about brave knights and dragons, and Kjell, certain that no one could possibly sleep in the din—though Sasha hadn’t so much as sighed—crept from the room, stationing a guard at the door with instructions not to allow anyone—or anything—inside. He walked to the moored ships, checked on the rotation of the guard, walked by the animal enclosures, and tried not to think about Lucian or the Changer who had killed him.
When a shape broke from the shadows, shrouded and slim, he half expected it, even welcomed it, and drew his blade, eager to put an end to the chase. But the shadow paused and said his name.
“Sasha,” he hissed. “What are you doing?” He strode toward her and pulled her into an alcove. The inn wasn’t far—singing and laughter were as potent as brine in the breeze—but Sasha was alone and it was dark, and danger crept around every corner and lurked in a thousand possibilities. He gripped her shoulders harder than he should, but she simply stared up at him, waiting for his anger to pass, as if she understood the fear that limned it and the sentiment that motivated it.
“Your instructions to the guard at my door were to not let anyone in. You said nothing about letting me out. And unfortunately, Captain, I outrank you.”
Her words weren’t defiant but resigned, and though he dropped his hands from her shoulders, he didn’t step away. Slowly, like he was a wild creature and she didn’t want to frighten him, she took a small step and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest. For several seconds they breathed together, connected only where her sighs warmed his heart.
“I see no trouble here tonight, and I wanted to be with you,” she confessed.
“But you don’t see everything,” he whispered, repentant, and his arms moved of their own accord, enfolding her, his lips finding her hair.
“No. I see just enough to make everything I don’t see more confusing.”
He waited for her to expound, but she pressed her face harder into his chest, hiding her thoughts.
“Tomorrow will come, and I will have to be Queen Saoirse again and for every day after that,” she said.
“And now?” he asked, hating the hope he had no cause to feel.
“Now I am just Sasha who loves Kjell.”
He heard the surrender in her voice, and as she raised her face, his lips sought hers. She opened beneath him, welcoming his arrival. Their mouths melded and clung, tasting and torturing, jubilation flavored with loss. They withdrew only to come together again, to take just one more, and Kjell kissed her until his body raged and his lips begged for mercy.
It was Sasha who finally bowed her head, pressing her lips to his heart so they wouldn’t return to his mouth. Their bodies quaked and thrummed, denied and despairing, until short breaths became longsuffering and pounding blood became quiet questions.
“She follows—Ariel of Firi,” Sasha said.
“Yes,” he rasped. Her hands curled in his cloak.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head helplessly and tightened his arms. “There is something she wants.”
“She wants you,” Sasha reasoned, as though it were the most logical thing in the world.
“She has never wanted me,” Kjell argued. “I have nothing to give her. I have never had anything to give her. Once she thought I was going to be king. Now she knows I will never be.”
“I have nothing to give you either.”
“I never wanted you for what you could give me. Lady Firi wants to hurt me. Lucian’s death proved that. There is only one way she can destroy me, Sasha. You must remember that and not put yourself in danger. Not for a moment’s peace or a stolen kiss.”
She nodded, agreeing, her face set, her mouth tight, and he wondered at her easy acquiescence.
“You must go back, Kjell,” she said softly.
“Where?” he asked, befuddled.
“To Jeru City.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, incredulous. “I won’t.”
“You cannot come with me to Dendar,” she insisted.
“You cannot go without me,” he shot back, undeterred.
“Beneath every ripple that finds me, behind everything I see, lies the fear that I will set into motion the very thing I am trying to prevent. When I was a child, I was so afraid of the things I saw, they would paralyze me. I would rock in the corner and press my face in my mother’s lap. But hiding and fearing changed nothing. Then my father helped me turn my visions into stories. And we always gave them happy endings. He told me the worst thing I could do was doubt myself. He told me when I see something, I should act every time, immediately. So far, faith has always been the best choice.”
“And what choice do you think you are making for me now?” he asked, dread pooling in his gut. Determination rang in her voice, and a resolute Sasha was a dangerous Sasha.
“When we left Jeru City, all I could think was that I was so glad I wouldn’t have to say goodbye—not yet—and that I wouldn’t have to leave you.”
He had felt the same way.
“But I was weak,” she added. “And I was wrong. And I am so afraid.” Her chin wobbled, but she clenched her jaw, forging ahead. “I’m afraid that all the things I’ve seen are leading us to Caarn, to this time, and the thing I fear most will come to pass.”
“And if I don’t go to Dendar, none of that will happen,” he concluded.
“Yes.”
“But how will I keep you safe?” he murmured, and their eyes clung. Her voice shook when she spoke again.
“When I sailed to Dendar for the first time, I was just ten summers. I was terribly seasick, and the fresh air was the only thing that helped. My caretakers, an older couple who had worked in my father’s house, would let me sleep beneath the stars just to keep the worst of the sickness at bay. I dreamed of you on the deck, just the way you are now.” Sasha touched his face, almost reverent, pleading eyes and gentle hands. “I’ve always seen you this way—big, strong, your hair dark, your face unlined. My visions have always been of you, the way you are right now. I’ve never seen you any other way, and now I’m afraid that I never will. I’ve seen you in Caarn, and that thrills and terrifies me, because as much as my heart aches to have you near me, I will never, ever recover, never forgive myself if you are lost. I will never be Sasha of Jeru or Sasha of Kjell. It is not how life unfolded. But you will never be Kjell of Dendar. Not if I can help it.”
A clattering in the street and a figure looming near the alcove made Sasha pull away and Kjell move in front of her, hand on his blade.
Jerick stepped into the swath of orange light spilling from the torches that lined the harbor, a bottle of wine in his outstretched hand, apology in his posture. He slinked forward, the bottle in front of him, until Kjell snatched it impatiently, relief and irritation making him short with his lieutenant, as usual.
“I came to keep you company on watch, Captain. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was worried about Sash—about Queen Saoirse. But I see she has found you,” Jerick said.
“You were so worried that you let her walk out of the inn in the middle of the night?” Kjell replied, aghast, wishing Jerick would go, knowing it was best if he stayed.
“I was neither the guard at her door, Captain, nor the man she followed,” Jerick replied easily.
“Will you think about what I’ve said, Captain?” Sasha interrupted, stepping around him and out of the alcove, widening the distance between them.
“I am going to Dendar, Majesty,” Kjell responded, and she nodded slowly.
“Then I will bid you goodnight,” she said, obedient and sadly resigned for all her impassioned pleading.
“Go with Queen Saoirse, Jerick, and stay with her. Please. I am going to remain on watch,” Kjell commanded, his eyes on Sasha’s unsmiling mouth.
“I would like that back, Captain, when you’re done.” Jerick inclined his head toward the wine he’d offered moments before.
“Go, Lieutenant,” Kjell warned, taking a long pull from Jerick’s bottle just to be contrary, and he turned his back to the street, going deeper into the alcove, dismissing them both.
The liquid was warm, but his throat was caked in frustration, and he drank deeply again. The flavor was sweet if a little cloying, but he needed to douse the fire in his belly and the tumult in his chest. It didn’t help. If anything, his mouth became drier, his agony deeper.
He tried to drink again, to swallow another mouthful, but his vision throbbed, ebbing and widening, tilting and turning, and for a moment he couldn’t remember if he’d just healed an entire village or if Lucian had simply thrown him from his back.
But Lucian had never thrown him. Lucian was dead. Lucian was dead and Jerick was beside him once more. What had Jerick done to him? Something was wrong with the wine. Something was wrong with him. He swayed and staggered, and someone helped him fall. Then Sasha was kneeling beside him, holding his head against her chest. Sasha was kissing his mouth, and her tears were stinging his eyes.
“Jerick promised me he would look after you,” she whispered. “He loves you, you know. They all do. I begged them to help me. To help you. Don’t be too hard on him.”
He tried to say her name, and it hissed between his lips like the mythical snake in the tree. But unlike the snake, she had beguiled him, and Jerick had helped her.
“When you wake, I’ll be gone. And you must remain in Jeru,” she entreated.
He begged her to come with him—he promised he would love her if she would just come back—but the words never left his mouth, and she walked away, drawing her dark cloak over her hair. Then Jerick was helping him stand—Gibbous too—pulling his arms around their shoulders and supporting his weight.
“Come on, Captain.” Jerick soothed. “We’ve got you now.”
“He’s going to kill us, Jerick. We’re as good as dead,” Gibbous warned.
“Better us than the captain, Gibbous,” Jerick reasoned, and Kjell watched himself take steps he would never remember, watched his men struggle to get him to the inn, a plastered drunk with a lolling head, watched them lay him across the bed in his rented room, lifting his feet and removing his boots, setting his sword beside him, as if he could possibly wield it. He watched them close the door and leave him behind, and watched his world go dark.
He was floating, absent, unaware for too long. When he awoke, it was to pain and light, and he struggled to resurface, if only to annihilate the source.
“Wake up, Captain.” Padrig was pleading with him, slapping his face. He’d been doused in water—repeatedly, it appeared, from the pool he lay in—and he wore nothing but a pair of breeches and a grimace.
“Why am I wet?” Kjell groaned.
“I’ve been trying to revive you for an hour. They’re going to leave us, Captain. I’ve paid off the first mate and one of the ship’s captains, but the queen is insisting we depart, and your men have worked themselves into a lather over recent events. When Jerick said you weren’t coming, I knew there was something afoot.”
“Can you help me? I seem to be lost.” Jerick spoke up from somewhere nearby. Kjell attempted to turn his head, to find his lieutenant, but the bed was in the way.
“I know who you are,” Padrig soothed. “Your name is Jerick. And I will help you, kind sir. But I need your assistance,”
“You know who I am?” Jerick cried.
“Yes. I do. But this captain needs to get to his ship, and he’s ill. You are young and strong, and you can help us. Then I will tell you everything I know,” Padrig haggled. “But we must hurry.”
“What is wrong with Jerick?” Kjell whispered. Dust coated his mouth and whirled in his thoughts, but beneath the haze he was beginning to remember.
“He’s currently sitting mindless in the corner. I don’t have your strength or your size, but I have my own ways of debilitating my opponents. I am quite good at plucking thoughts right out of people’s heads, Healer, remember?”
“Explain, Spinner. Slowly,” he demanded, and he commanded his numb arms and liquid legs to obey him. The room tipped and tossed him back to his knees.
“Lieutenant Jerick’s memories are currently the newest star in the sky. He was determined to keep you from Dendar, so I had to change his mind.”
Padrig helped Kjell rise and eased him down on the bed, handing him his shirt before trying to shove his boots on his feet.
Kjell swatted him aside and, swaying, managed to do it himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Kjell hissed.
“Doing what?” Padrig said, retrieving the confused Jerick from where he huddled against the wall. Jerick looked blankly at Kjell, displaying no recollection whatsoever. Padrig handed the befuddled, young lieutenant Kjell’s satchel of personal belongings and two other bags. “One of these is yours, Jerick. Can you carry them to the ship?”
Jerick accepted them hesitantly, clearly not knowing what else to do.
Kjell tried to sheath his sword, and Padrig rushed to his side, guiding the blade home before Kjell stabbed himself in the leg.
“Helping me.” Kjell kept his eyes closed, his blurred vision compromising his ability to stay on his feet.
“I’m not helping you, Captain. I’m attempting to help Dendar,” Padrig replied. “Now lean on me, and I’ll do my best to keep us both standing.” Padrig stepped under Kjell’s shoulder and slipped a thin arm around his waist.
They tottered down the stairs, Kjell trusting the Spinner to keep him moving in the right direction, while he concentrated on using his legs and staying upright. Jerick followed behind with constant reassurance from Padrig that all would be well.
“How is helping me helping Dendar?’ Kjell asked, reeling.
“You must take this journey with us.”
“Why? You said I would only cause Sasha pain.”
“There are worse things than Saoirse’s pain,” Padrig huffed, staggering under Kjell’s considerable bulk. “I am more worried about what she has seen.” Padrig shook his head as if dismissing one thought for another. “Dendar doesn’t need a warrior, Dendar needs a Healer,” he said, inexplicably.
“What aren’t you telling me, Spinner?” Kjell pressed, trying to order his thoughts and summon his comprehension.
“I am telling you that there is a reason Saoirse has had visions of you since she was a child. Dendar needs you both, as painful and impossible as it might be,” Padrig muttered. “And I don’t dare leave you behind.”
Kjell could see the ships still moored in the harbor, and he focused on the white sails, the draped rigging, and the bunk he could fall into once he locked the faithless Gibbous and the traitorous Jerick in the brig. He hadn’t decided yet what to do about the stubborn Sasha.
“Praise the Creator,” Padrig panted. “I thought she would insist on leaving us both, Captain. I don’t think the queen is as fond of me as she once was.”
A shout went up. They’d been seen. Suddenly, Isak and Peter were bearing him up, taking his weight from the breathless Padrig.
“Captain Kjell! What is the meaning of this?” the captain of one ship—a man named Lortimer—was striding down the gangplank toward him.
“Where is the queen?” Kjell muttered to his men.
“She’s down below, Captain,” Isak answered immediately. “In her quarters. Gibbous put a man outside her door and the two maids inside with her. We thought you weren’t coming. Jerick told us you were ordered back to Jeru City.”
“Jerick lets his heart make a fool of him.” He wasn’t the only one. “Go fetch Gibbous. Tell him his captain would like a word.” Isak ran to obey, and Kjell addressed the Spinner. “Give Jerick back his head, Star Maker.”
“I will return the lieutenant’s memories.” Padrig said, but he hastened to add, “But maybe it is better if we leave him in Brisson Bay. Can you trust him, Healer?”
“Padrig, I don’t trust anyone—not you, not Jerick, not even myself. Do as I say.” Kjell was on the verge of collapse, and he didn’t need Padrig’s wheedling or interference. He also didn’t need a mindless Jerick. Seeing his lieutenant afraid and disoriented made him angry. It made him think of Sasha, robbed of everything—home, family, even her self—walking to Firi, to bondage, because she didn’t know where else to go.
“Very well, Captain.” Padrig shrugged. He flung his hands upward and a beam of light shot down from the sky, drawing gasps and cries from the crew and guard. Villagers on the docks gaped and a few screams were heard.
“Bloody hell, Padrig.” Kjell groaned at the theatrics.
“I don’t want that on my ship!” Lortimer cried, retreating up the gangplank. “I won’t have the Gifted on this vessel.”
“Then you won’t see a single coin,” Kjell roared, “And we will unload our cargo and our people now, and you will answer to my sword before you will answer to the king.” His temper seared the fog from his head, but it didn’t ease the ache behind his eyes. He’d had enough sniveling and second-guessing to last him a lifetime.
Padrig palmed the light and turned toward Jerick.
Jerick took one look at the pulsing orb, and stumbled back, dropping the bags he still carried.
“Jerick!” Kjell thundered, “We promised we would help you. Be still.”
Jerick froze, his eyes on his captain, and he nodded, displaying the same trust that was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the impudence he’d never been able to suppress. Padrig lowered the light over his head and Jerick shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his legs buckling.
“It doesn’t hurt, Captain,” Padrig reassured.
“How would you know this, Padrig? You are awfully glib with other people’s pain,” Kjell said, watching his lieutenant straighten and awareness settle over his features. A guard reached for Jerick’s arm, steadying him, and Jerick’s eyes found Kjell, shock and wonder flitting across his features.
Isak had reached the main deck, Gibbous on his heels, and Kjell could already see the suffering on the older man’s face. He waited to address Jerick until Gibbous stopped in front of him and dropped to one knee.
“Captain, forgive me,” Gibbous moaned, bowing his head.
“Not a word, Gibbous. You and Jerick will billet on the other ship and spend your first night in the brig. We won’t speak of this again.” Kjell turned to include Jerick in his statement. “I know you acted to protect me, but in doing so, you lost my trust.” From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red and pale blue skirts. Sasha stood on the quarterdeck, her hands gripping the rail, tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew she’d heard him, knew his words had pierced her, and he let his rebellious gaze and traitorous heart acknowledge her, absolving her, before he addressed the ship’s captain.
“Prepare to sail, Lortimer,” Kjell ordered, and with as much dignity and strength as he could muster, he walked up the gangplank, trusting that his men would—this time—do exactly what he asked.