24

Marcus

How does she stay so positive?

Ash holds the railing, bouncing on her toes as we glide over the turquoise water into the harbor of Nonnova. “It’s as stunning as ever.”

“Hmm.” If I say more, it will come out harsh, and I don’t want to dampen her spirits. Not after what she’s been through. I can’t believe she isn’t crushed by the betrayal. Doesn’t it take more than two nights’ sleep to get over that?

Betrayal? Really? De’ral rumbles.

My phantom is right. Assassination attempt. On her life! I expected her to be devastated, but she’s not. It’s almost like she’s back to her old self, from before the attack on Baiseen. Today, at least her spirits are strong. I wish I could say the same for mine.

“I have the documents all in order.” She pats her satchel, trying again to strike up a conversation.

“Good.” The documents Brogal signed, sanctioning our purpose in gathering the whistle bones, should give me confidence, but all I can do is roll through the turmoil in my mind. I can’t make sense of anything. But I have to try.

First, there’s no grief in me for Rowten. He lost all rights to that when he tried to lop off Ash’s head. But the fact that he did it? I would be a fool not to be alarmed. Second, Father. I don’t miss his doubts and disapproval. If anything, I’m relieved he’s gone. Relieved, and furious that he left Petén to rule the realm. Devastated that the last chance to prove myself is gone.

He put Petén and Rhiannon on the throne, De’ral interrupts my thoughts.

“Don’t remind me of that alliance,” I growl aloud in response.

Third, there is my phantom. Even after the extensive training on Aku, and stepping up from green to yellow-robe, can I honestly say I am in full control? Ever? The battle with the red-robe Atikis shouts a loud and clear no.

Salila would say no, too…

“Not helping, De’ral.” But then, there is no evidence of my phantom wanting to be helpful.

And then there’s Salila, a Mar I can’t get out of my head, literally. How can I hear her?

You don’t.

“What are you talking about? We had a conversation, under the water no less.”

I have conversations with her. You were a fly on the wall.

It’s De’ral who hears her, not me? Of course, it is. But how can he do so on his own, as if we weren’t one and the same?

Ash squeezes my arm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m the one who should be asking you that.” I soften toward her.

“I asked first.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Everything is happening at once, Marcus, roaring toward us like a herd of Aturnian long-horns. I feel it, too.”

She waits for me to look at her.

“Just choose one out of the many overworked thoughts in your head. Share that, at least, with me.” She raises her brows. “I’m your friend, Marcus. You talk with your friends.”

“All right.” I draw a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I’m either going mad, or I can hear Salila in my head. Well, my warrior can, at least, and I hear her when he lets me.” My face heats and I turn back to the sea. “It’s unnerving.”

Ash doesn’t answer right away and when she does, I’m surprised.

“I’ve heard Salila in my head, too.”

“You have! Why didn’t you say?” I can’t believe this. “You mentioned getting images from phantoms, from De’ral especially.” I whisper his name. No point pretending Ash doesn’t know it, but I don’t need the rest of the world to. “Is it like that? Images?” I don’t give her time to answer. “Because for me, Salila’s voice is clear with her bold, if not rude thoughts.” It strikes me that the Mar woman is so well versed in multiple languages. I’ve recognized her use of several, not that I could understand much. I wonder how she was educated. Can she read all the languages she speaks? I mean, books in the sea? That’s impossible.

You are always asking the wrong questions, Marcus.

“Go back to sleep.”

I listen when Ash speaks.

Another perplexity I cannot fathom—De’ral’s fascination with Ash. All phantoms’ fascination really…

“Calm down, Marcus.” She puts her hand on my shoulder.

I take a breath and let her go on.

“Salila’s voice in my head is not like the pictures phantoms send. It’s actual conversations, or it was back on Aku. I haven’t talked with her, mind-to-mind or otherwise since.”

“Well, I have.” And I guess I really needed to share that.

She pats my hand where I have tightened my grip on the rail. “How does your warrior feel about it all?”

“Loves it.” I laugh grimly.

“Well then, maybe it’s a gift.”

“A gift?” I dismiss the idea but then backtrack. “Maybe you’re right.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “But for now, as long as you are safe and well, we best focus on what’s ahead.”

She blows out her breath. “Honestly, I won’t say I have made peace with Rowten’s attack. Not sure I ever will, but I agree. We focus on what’s next. Are you ready for Servine?”

“As ready as I can be.” I haven’t seen the High Savant Servine since her red-robe ceremony four years ago where I demonstrated, to humiliating levels, how inept I was at raising my phantom. Father had little to say about that, but he didn’t need to. I was disappointed in myself enough for us both.

“You’ve come such a long way.” Ash smiles. “And she probably won’t remember the last visit.”

“I should be so lucky.”

De’ral laughs and I try to ignore him.

From the deck of the Dugong, it looks like nothing’s changed in Nonnova. Mountainous island, crystal water, white sand, and tropical fruits ripening on trees. Young women and men gather in small groups on the beach, husking coconuts. Weaving. Children rushing about with buckets and fishing nets. Ash is right. Nonnova is as stunning as ever.

“We should purchase dried coconut and dates for the journey,” I say. Small talk seems much easier now.

“You just want to go meet those girls.” Ash nudges me.

“I will join you, Marcus,” Belair says as he comes up behind us.

Ash gives him a friendly shove, too. “And you just want to meet those boys. Make sure, in all the meeting, you don’t forget to buy the coconut and dates.”

For a small moment, the three of us laugh together and my burdens lift. Then I sober. “We should also measure their temperament as regards to the second sun.”

“They don’t look too worried to me,” Belair says.

He’s right. They don’t.

“Here comes the welcoming party.” Ash tips her head at the entrance to the docks.

Orange-robe savants trot down the steps and along the wooden pier toward our berth. They’re too far away to make out faces, but their stride is purposeful. Formal.

“They’ve received Brogal’s message, I presume,” Kaylin says as he joins us. “Or did their Bone Throwers know we were coming?”

“Both, I imagine.” I roll my shoulders, refusing to tense up. My feelings toward Kaylin are a little uneasy since Rowten’s death. He slaughtered him mercilessly, after all. If I hadn’t seen the attack with my own eyes…

He saved Ash.

“That’s why I didn’t run him through on the spot, but still, sailor or not, the dive from the crow’s nest seems impossible.”

Then be glad it wasn’t.

“Hopefully Tann hasn’t beat us here.” Ash’s cheeks flush as Kaylin leans against the railing beside her.

“No sign of battle.” I keep up the small talk. “The harbor is clean and peaceful.”

“No fires, no sunken ships. And the youths on the beach seem unfazed,” Kaylin adds.

“Looks like Servine’s honor guard,” Belair says, pointing at the additional troops coming down the dock to meet us.

Ash’s spine stiffens. She lets go of the railing and takes a step back.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Kaylin puts his arm around her and draws her into his side.

“That goes without saying.” I take her free hand and pull her over toward me.

She drops my hand while squirming out from under Kaylin’s arm. “Thanks, both of you, but we’re here on official business and I am your wordsmith, not a child who needs coddling.” She gives both of us a measured look. “I will admit, though, I’m very lucky to have such fine champions at my side.”

“Ever the diplomat, lass,” Kaylin says and tips an imaginary hat to her.

Of course, it makes her laugh. I want to pull her back to my side where I know she is safe—I nearly lost her to the assassin—but I can see no valid reason to smother her.

Who needs a reason?

“Quiet, De’ral.”

I’m close enough, and besides, Kaylin is a master warrior. I have no problem admitting that he can protect her, too, though Ash would probably say I’m missing the point. She is not an object in need of protection.

But could she have defended herself that night? Could any of us, under such an unexpected attack?

She couldn’t have.

I step closer. Between the two of us, she has the best bodyguards on Amassia.

The three of us, De’ral says.

Again, I find it uncanny that my phantom thinks himself separate from me at the moment, but apparently, he does. I’m not going to fight it. “The three of us will keep her safe.” In that, I will trust.

The Dugong crew jumps into action as we glide into the vacant berth. Along the dock, men and women are waving and catching ropes. In short order the long lines are tied, the gangplank down, and I lead our company to meet the welcome committee of orange-robes.

“I’m Marcus Adicio, here by the request of—”

“Yes, yes. Brogal has sent word. Follow us.” A woman directs us with a wave of her hand.

Before I can say more, we are all staring at the retreating backs of the savants. There is nothing else to do but follow them up the broad steps and along a wide, tree-lined thoroughfare.

“Customary welcome?” Kaylin asks me under his breath.

“Not really.”

But Ash doesn’t seem to notice with her nose to the sky. “Jacarandas,” she says, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “They’re beautiful in spring.”

I take her word for it. The trees are bare this time of year and like the orange-robes, not particularly welcoming. Also, we’re headed in the wrong direction. The Sanctuary is to the left of the harbor, not right.

Ash tugs on my sleeve. “We’re going the wrong way,” she whispers.

“I noticed.”

Kaylin’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

I speak to Samsen out the side of my mouth. “Eyes open, everyone.”

Samsen’s hand goes to his sword as well as he passes the warning to Piper, Belair, and Tyche.

I clear my throat. “Masters?” The orange-robes had offered no introductions so there is no other way to address them. “Excuse me, but you’re taking us to the High Savant Servine?”

The woman in the lead turns her head and lifts a shoulder. The gesture is ambiguous, but she continues until the street narrows and we head inland toward the heart of the isle. The sun rises higher, flies buzz around my face, and I begin to sweat.

“I forgot how warm it is here,” Ash says, unbuttoning her winter coat, the one that was covered in Rowten’s blood last night. Looks like the deckman got it clean. But her words don’t sit right. I’m about to comment that she’s been making several journeys a year to Nonnova, and her memory must be failing, but I stop myself.

As we approach a shady pathway that leads to a carved wooden gate, Ash comments on the wall. It’s made of pale clay bricks and extends in a long curving line until it disappears into the jungle. We’re entering the Sanctuary, but not by the main gates. Good to know, but why?

Ash frowns at me and grips my hand.

I look again. Much of the wall is covered in trailing vines but a section in the distance is being worked on. Several blue-robes are scrubbing the surface clean. A yellow-robe savant directs them.

“What happened there?” I ask.

Our guides neither turn to look nor answer. I want to push for an explanation, but Ash squeezes my hand again and shakes her head as if she’s read my mind. In her eyes is fear and I realize I shouldn’t have been so quick to trust even our sovereign ally, the High Savant Servine.