Charlon

You have failed,” Mreegan said.

The Chieftess of Magonia sat on a chair beside the window in Lady Zeroah’s cabin. A cabin aboard the Armanian flagship Seffynaw. Mreegan and Charlon both had reddish-brown skin and the gray eyes of a mantic. But Mreegan’s beauty outshined all. Tall where Charlon was short. Shapely where Charlon was formless. Graceful where Charlon was awkward. Though Charlon did not look like herself at present. She wore the mask of Lady Zeroah Barta.

Charlon stood across the small room. Back to the door. Arms crossed. Defensive. “I have not failed yet.”

“I grow tired of sharing the goddess with you,” the Chieftess added. “A great shadir deserves better than your dismal efforts, don’t you think?”

Such words! “Magon would disagree,” Charlon said. “The Great Goddess believes in me.”

“You should have succeeded in this assignment long before we became stuck on boats in the Eversea,” Mreegan snapped. “You are weak, even after compelling yourself with magic. These people would hang you if they found out who you really are, yet you still harbor compassion for them.”

Not all. For a girl in a trunk, always. Such a thing was wrong. No matter who the girl was. Or that she had twice spat in Charlon’s eye. “What would you have me do?”

“Give up your quest and release Magon to serve me alone. We will return to the Vespara, where I can devise a new plan. We must find land. Once we have a home, then we can worry about the prophecy of the Deliverer.”

To the Vespara. A place Mreegan would rule over Charlon as Chieftess. The role the Great Goddess had promised. Promised Charlon would have. Once she became Mother. “I will not go. Not until I conceive the Deliverer. The Seffynaw carries all the Hadar men.”

“You have had more than enough time to catch one of these princes, yet you continue to wait on Prince Wilek.”

“He is the natural choice.”

“We are out of time!” Mreegan yelled. “I have no more ahvenrood. We must return to the Vespara before our masks wear off. I leave at nightfall. With or without you.”

Ah, here was proof! That the goddess trusted Charlon. Better than Chieftess Mreegan. For the great shadir had taken Charlon to the old woman Teaka. A simple spell and stores of ahvenrood came to Charlon. She eyed the bronze canister on the sideboard and smiled. She did not need Mreegan’s root now. Nor would she tell Mreegan so.

Because Mreegan would take it. For herself.

Charlon lifted her chin. Stood tall. “I will not abandon Magon’s call. I do not fear the future. Of failing masks or living at sea. Magon is with me. Always. She will protect me.”

Mreegan stood, strode toward Charlon, shaking her finger while she spoke. “You are a weak fool. I misread your anger as strength, but it has never been anything more than self-pity. I was mistaken to declare you Mother.”

Charlon stood firm. “I am the Mother. You will see.”

Mreegan shook her head. “The day of the Mother will come, but I no longer believe she is you.”

“Magon has told me. I am the Mother. I will not fail her.”

“Yes, well, you cannot succeed without ahvenrood, and I have no desire to be executed alongside you when our masks wear off and Prince Wilek sees who we really are.” Mreegan walked past Charlon. Toward the door.

“Magon will provide,” Charlon said to her back. “Your lack of faith shames the goddess. That you would walk away. Away from her decree . . . You are not worthy to lead Magonia.”

Mreegan turned, her face a veil of thunder. “You dare insult me after all I have done for you? You are a fool. Your mask is failing and your token host is dying. Can you not smell her death approaching? You have failed.”

“Not yet.”

“Nightfall, if you wish to return with me.” Mreegan opened the door and left.

“You will regret abandoning me!” Charlon yelled after her.

The door fell closed on her words. Charlon flipped the lock. Sank onto the bed. Gritted her teeth to fight off tears that threatened.

Alone again. But for the captive. Hidden in the trunk under the bed.

The cabin did reek. Of death. Charlon could not disagree. But the smell was not Zeroah. King Jorger had died. The first day of the voyage. Heart forever silent. Mreegan had used magic to push his body out the cabin window. And once Mreegan knew her ahvenrood was nearly gone, she had magicked the struggling Flara out the window as well. Splashing water. Drowning maid.

Zeroah might have died too, if not for Charlon. She would not allow Mreegan near the girl. Charlon let her out once a day. To eat. To drink. To use the privy bucket. Mreegan had mocked Charlon for it. But Charlon knew. Knew what it was like to be captive.

Charlon wanted it to end. For Zeroah’s sake. For her own too. But she would not let Mreegan decide when.

She stood. Paced across the room to the mirrorglass. Studied the reflection of Lady Zeroah. Tired of wearing this face. Even more weary of the black mourning dress. To honor the death of Princess Nabelle. The color did not make the skinny girl more attractive. Perhaps she was simply too plain. Too plain to tempt Prince Wilek. His concubine had been provocative. Now that Charlon had more ahvenrood, she might risk a small spell to enhance the girl’s figure.

It would not help. Mreegan was right. Charlon had no hope. No hope of seducing Prince Wilek. Lady Zeroah was too demure. To behave differently would call unwanted attention. Besides, the prince had little time for his betrothed. His father was ill. Too ill to pressure him to marry. With Princess Nabelle gone and Prince Wilek preoccupied with his duties as Heir, the contracted wedding seemed forgotten. That his people came first did not surprise Charlon. Not in the least.

“Go to Prince Janek instead,” the Chieftess had said. “I imagine he would delight in claiming his brother’s betrothed for his own.”

No doubt he would. Such a task might prove easier. It mattered not which prince fathered Charlon’s child. So long as he was a Hadar. Yet she abhorred Prince Janek. He was everything she hated in a man.

The Chieftess had also suggested Charlon wear Mielle’s mask. Approach Prince Trevn. In his youth he might not so easily recognize a trap. And while Charlon would enjoy putting Mielle in a trunk—for a day or two, at least—she was not yet ready to give up on Prince Wilek.

Lies, her heart said. Charlon simply did not like Chieftess Mreegan telling her what to do.

The Chieftess was wrong. She would see. Now that Charlon had plenty of ahvenrood. And Magon’s help to use it. Success would come. And once Magon declared Charlon Chieftess of Magonia, Mreegan would be sorry.

Charlon woke the next morning to the reek from the trunk under her bed. Too strong to ignore another day. A spell would mask the stench for Charlon. But she could not so easily cast such a spell over everyone on board.

Lady Zeroah must have a bath.

Charlon moved the trunk out from under her bed. Then she opened it.

Zeroah lay curled inside. Flinched at the light. Groaned. She was skinnier than ever. Skeletal. Had sores on her face. Two flies crawled over her greasy tangle of hair. Charlon’s heart leapt within. How had flies gotten inside? Help the girl! her heart said. This is wrong.

Charlon knew it. But not how to stop it. She hastened to free the captive from her prison. Tipped the trunk on its side. Pulled the girl out and removed her gag.

Now lying on the floor, Zeroah groaned and writhed. Did not stretch her legs. Did not try to stand, just cried for water.

Charlon poured a cup from the sideboard. Helped the girl sit and drink. Charlon poured a second. Put some cheese and figs on a plate. Carried the trunk out into the corridor. Compelled the nearest maid to clean it without question.

Went back inside and waited while Zeroah nibbled at the food.

The girl had fought hard the first two weeks. Lost her fire after. Charlon’s heart ached to look upon her. Charlon had done this. Become the monster she’d always hated.

“Do not look so sad,” Zeroah rasped. “I have forgiven you.”

The words shocked. More than a strike to the face.

The girl kept talking, as if to herself. “He Who Made the World has forgiven me for my selfishness. He answers my prayers even though I deserve no such devotion. Arman is good to me. I want to be good also.”

“Arman?” This was the name of the father god. Torol believed him a great shadir. Magon said he was nothing but myth.

A knock at the door. The maid returning with the trunk.

“Silence,” she whispered to Zeroah, then said through the door. “Leave the trunk there and bring a tub filled with warm water. And tools to clean my hair and nails.” It would be a saltwater bath, unfortunately. But it would greatly reduce Zeroah’s stench.

“Yes, lady.”

Charlon waited until the maid’s footsteps padded away. Opened the door and pulled the trunk inside. The wood was moist from cleaning. Smelled fresh. “This is how your god is good?” she asked Zeroah. “By allowing you to be kept? Inside this?”

Zeroah eyed the trunk warily. “It is his love for you that allows my captivity.”

A deity love a human? Charlon doubted even Magon loved her. And they were bonded. In shared purpose. “Explain your meaning.”

“The One God does not control his people. He gives us freedom to live how we wish. Sometimes our choices hurt others. You might not count yourself among his faithful, but Arman loves you, even though you deny him.”

A strange accusation. “I have never denied this name.”

“You have never called upon it either.”

“Why should I? He has never shown himself to me.” Like Magon had.

“Did you not see him unleash his wrath upon the Five Realms for ignoring his decrees? How he saved a remnant of followers loyal to him? Have you not noticed how he has saved his servant Sâr Wilek time and again from your plotting?”

“Enough!” Charlon compelled Zeroah to silence. Yet her mind raced with echoes of their conversation. There was more she wanted to ask. But she did not want Zeroah to think her interested in her god. Magon was all Charlon needed. She would save her questions for Magon.

The bath came. Charlon compelled the maid to enter, bathe Zeroah. The woman’s shock over seeing two Zeroahs, one appearing frail and mute, did not worry Charlon. She would forget everything. The moment she left the cabin.

The maid coddled Zeroah. Fussed over every sore. Scrubbed the girl’s hair thoroughly. Then lifted her out, wrapped her in a robe, and clipped her fingernails and toenails to perfection. All the while crooning or humming. As if Zeroah were a wounded bird.

Such kindness made Charlon long to be treated so. She had been too afraid. To allow anyone to groom or bathe her. Such touching seemed wrong somehow. Unnecessary. Yet this woman’s actions and joy as she served Zeroah contradicted any wrongness.

When the maid finished, Charlon told her to put Zeroah back. Into the trunk. The maid balked, refused. But Charlon could not do it. So she compelled the maid to obey.

Finally Zeroah was back inside. Hidden away. Weeping silently. Waves of guilt overcame. Charlon placed a sleeping spell on the girl. To relieve them both.

The maid stowed the trunk discreetly beneath the bed. Charlon erased the maid’s memory. Sent her, stupidly, on her way. All forgotten.

But not Charlon. She remembered all. The mere knowledge of Zeroah inside the trunk made Charlon want to leave. She purged out the ahvenrood poison. Once she was well, she took a sip of root juice and locked the door behind her. Set out for the stern deck.

The sun had not been up for long. Charlon looked into the Veil. Shadir were rare on board the Seffynaw. But she found one slight. Watched it swirl around the legs of a sailor. A sailor hauling ropes across the deck.

Magon, I need your help. I do not wish to fail you.

Magon appeared beside her then. Looked identical to Mreegan. Had given her likeness to the Chieftess.

Why is my servant sad? the great shadir asked.

As the pair circled the deck, Charlon told her all that had happened. Of Zeroah’s praises for her god. Of Chieftess Mreegan’s assertion that Charlon had failed.

They walked as if they were two friends taking a stroll. Charlon took care not to trod upon anyone. Magon, transparent and invisible to all eyes but Charlon’s, simply floated through anyone in her path.

Do not fear, Magon told her. My plans are certain and will not fail.

Relief washed over Charlon. All things were possible with Magon at her side.