Hinck

Just look at it!” Janek cried. “My biggest sandvine. Dead.”

Hinck jolted awake, pulse pounding, disoriented. He was reclining on a longchair in Janek’s tent. Ah, he’d dozed off again. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up a pawn in a nasty prank.

He sat up and swung his legs off the side, hoping such a position would keep him alert. Janek’s tent felt empty with only six people inside. In the past, when Janek held court on a journey, his tent had been filled with dozens of jubilant carousers. Now, besides Hinck, Janek had only his concubines, the Honored Ladies Pia and Mattenelle, who sat on mats by his feet in their traditional two-piece gowns; his Rurekan shield, Sir Jayron, who paced behind Janek, foreboding with his henna-tattooed head and sculpted beard; and Kamran DanSâr, the king’s stray son, who lay on another longchair, smoking a poured-stone pipe.

All faced Janek, who sat on a wicker throne, holding a potted plant on one knee. The Second Arm of Armania had lost much in the past three weeks, the dearest of which was the desertion of his closest friend, Oli Agoros, who now did nothing but drink wine and moan about the loss of his arm. But Hinck could hardly blame him for that.

“I had hoped freshwater from the island stream would revive it,” Janek continued, “but I fear it’s too late. I now have only one sandvine left on board the ship. One.”

“What if you planted this one here on the island, lord?” Lady Pia suggested.

He frowned at her. “And leave it behind?”

“With time and rain and rich soil for its roots to grow deep, it might yet live, eventually go to seed, and populate the island with sandvines.”

Lady Pia never ceased to impress Hinck with her quick thinking. She always seemed to know just what to say to appease Janek.

Lady Mattenelle was the opposite, always moaning and fawning over whichever male was closest, and using her beauty to get whatever she wanted. “I think it’s an omen,” she said, adding a new blade of grass to the mat she was weaving. “We are going to die, and these ships are but massive death boats carrying us all to Shamayim.”

“None of that,” Janek snapped. “I am sick of such talk. If I hear another word of dying, I shall send you to the pole.”

“There is no pole at present,” Kamran said. “If you must punish her, send her to me.”

Janek ignored him. He’d never sent his concubines to the pole, though he had done so to his friends, who shockingly always returned to his company afterward, reticent and as loyal as ever.

“I itch for root,” Janek said. “It is not as bad as it once was, but the craving lingers.”

“Wine helps,” Kamran said, taking a swig from the goblet in his hand.

“Shall I fetch you more?” Lady Pia asked.

“Yes, do,” Janek said.

“Is there no root to be had on the entire ship?” Hinck asked as Lady Pia rose and refilled Janek’s goblet with wine.

“Oli always had a vial,” Lady Mattenelle said.

“Do not speak his name!” Janek yelled.

The tent fell quiet. Lady Mattenelle set her full attention on weaving her mat, as if someone else had mentioned the deserter’s name.

Sir Jayron bravely broke the silence. “Sâr Wilek’s mantic advisor had a vast amount of evenroot, but no one has been able to find it since the woman was killed.”

Janek began his performing laugh, the one that rose slowly in volume until he made enough noise to be practically yelling. This always meant he was about to reveal some grand secret. Oftentimes these were completely ridiculous. But every once in a while, he really did shock.

All eyes watched the prince, who was nursing a confident smile. He got up, set his dying sandvine on the floor beside his throne, and walked to his bed. “Sir Jayron told me how Wilek brought the old woman to Canden, how she used her little creature to search for evenroot.”

“That was how he caught the Pontiff and your mother with root,” Kamran said. “Lau and Yohthehreth as well.”

Janek crouched at the head of his feather mattress that lay on the floor. He picked up a lidded straw basket, stood, and started back to his chair. Hinck had seen him with that basket many times in the last week. Figured it held seeds or something related to gardening.

“Fortunate that the old woman didn’t start in my chambers in Canden,” Janek said. “Fortunate that you warned me, Sir Jayron. Fortunate that when I heard of the woman’s death, I went to her chamber with my empty root vial and waited until Errp came to me.” He lifted the lid, and a pale lizard scampered onto Janek’s wrist. Its tongue darted out, tasting Janek’s skin, and then it crawled up his arm and stopped on his shoulder.

“You have that thing?” Sir Jayron grinned. “Sâr Wilek still has guards looking for it.”

“How did you know its name?” Lady Pia asked.

“Did you kill her?” This from Kamran.

“I cannot reveal my sources, Lady Pia,” Janek said. “And no, Kamran. I am not a murderer, like you. But someone on board the Seffynaw has the old woman’s evenroot. And I want it. Errp will help me find it. Perhaps even find her killer and appease my brother. But I need a reason to search.”

“You’re a sâr,” Sir Jayron said. “You don’t need a reason to do what you want.”

“Please,” Janek said. “These days I must walk on glass around the Heir and break nothing. He nearly arrested me again today because of Fonu and his idiotic plans. Attacking when my father had doubled the guard. What a fool.”

“We’re all good with swords,” Kamran said. “Form us into a squadron to seek out those dastardly supporters you claim to know nothing about.”

Janek grinned. “And which of you will I execute first?”

“Fonu, who else?” Kamran said, blowing out a stream of smoke from his pipe.

“You won’t ever catch anyone truly guilty,” Sir Jayron said. “But it would give you permission to search cabins, and in doing so, you’re sure to find someone hiding something.”

“You must call yourself Master of the Order,” Lady Pia said.

“Master of the Order of the Sandvine,” Hinck said. “Lady Pia could sew us all silk sandvine blossoms to pin upon our breasts, medals of honor to wear as we seek to instill peace on board the Seffynaw, support Sâr Wilek as Heir, and stamp out any traitors to his name.”

A spark lit in Janek’s eyes. “All while I am gathering evenroot to myself. And when I have it, I will have power over them all. Oh, I like this very much.”

“But will Sâr Wilek allow it?” Kamran asked.

A slow smile spread across Janek’s face. “He will if I first gain permission from our Father. I will think more on this. Right now you must all help me plant my dying sandvine. Perhaps, as Lady Pia has suggested, it will take root or go to seed and next spring bring about a fresh crop on Bakurah Island for its colonists.”

“Good evening.” Fonu Edekk entered the tent, his presence bringing a curious silence over the group. He was a short, muscular man with black skin, full lips, and a big nose.

“What are you doing here?” Janek demanded.

Fonu strode over to Janek’s chair, hands behind his back. “I came to speak to you.”

“Most involved in today’s attack were captured,” Janek said, “though your name was not on Wilek’s list of rebels. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“In the forest. I’ve had a message from Moon Fang.”

Janek drained the rest of his goblet of wine. “Of course you have. What does he want now?”

“He is sending a boat to fetch us. To take us to his ship.”

“Ridiculous!” Janek said. “I am not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“Why shouldn’t I turn traitor on my father and side with his enemy? You really need ask?”

“He has made himself king of Sarikar,” Fonu said. “You are his Heir.”

“To rule what nation? Armania is on the Seffynaw, not on whatever ship my grandfather stole. How can he even ask this of me? After he took Timmons from me and left me to rot in prison. I must appease my father, not anger him further. Had you succeeded in your endeavor, we might be having a very different discussion at present. But you failed. So away from me. I want nothing to do with your mutinous plots.”

“After all we’ve done to forward your claim, you would abandon us?” Fonu asked.

Janek picked up his potted sandvine from the floor. “No one consulted me on this foolish plan. Yet you expect me to stick out my neck to help you clean it up? Impossible. Your last effort to put me on the throne left me in a holding cell for three weeks. I won’t risk myself again for your reckless ambitions. You may leave. You’re no longer welcome here.”

“Yet Kamran gets to stay?” Fonu asked. “He is one of us. And Nellie and Jay—”

“Kamran was wise enough to fix his own problems without groveling to me. Get up, all of you. We must put my sandvine in the ground.” Janek carried the plant past Fonu and out of the tent.

After returning to Janek’s tent, everyone resumed their former positions except for Janek, who fell back on his bed and stretched out.

“I’m hungry,” he said, patting his stomach. “Kamran, go find me something to eat. Pia, rub my feet. They’re sore from all that walking.”

Lady Pia walked to his bedside, knelt, and removed Janek’s boots. Hinck couldn’t imagine how the lady managed it so often with a smile on her face.

Kamran returned and Janek demanded that he, Hinckdan, and Lady Mattenelle act out a play. Lady Mattenelle hated playacting because she was terrible at it. Kamran had been acting out plays for years in the court of the king. Hinck was new to the sport, but he’d fared well enough at spying so far. Acting was just more of the same. Plus he enjoyed embellishing his lines to make them more dramatic. Janek seemed to like it too because he always gave Hinck the heroic roles and made Kamran the villain.

Hinck caught Lady Pia staring as he waxed poetic in the role of Athos, god of justice. She often watched him closely when he was acting, and it made him nervous. Of the two concubines, most men fawned over Lady Mattenelle, a goddess of a woman, to be sure, with her voluptuous body, huge amber eyes, long coils of black-and-gold hair, pouty lips, diamond nose ring, and a helpless way of talking that made men want to open doors and canisters for her.

Lady Pia, on the other hand, had an athletic body with just enough muscle to make her intimidating. She had dark brown eyes, a black onyx nose ring, and wore her hair straight and cut at a circular angle, starting at her left shoulder and tapering around to her right elbow. Everything about her seemed strong and fierce, yet she served Janek with the utmost humility and her alto voice sounded like music.

A guard pulled aside the tent flap for a maid carrying a platter of food. It was Shemme, Cook Hara’s daughter. She wore a black dress under her apron, still mourning the loss of Kell, her betrothed, who had died in the Woes.

“Put it here on the end of my bed,” Janek said, his devious gaze locked on the girl. “What is your name, maid?”

Shemme kept her gaze on the dish. “I am Shemme, Your Highness.”

She grasped the lid, but Janek set his hand over hers. Hinck’s stomach lurched. Surely Janek wouldn’t pursue Shemme? She was pretty in a gangly, young sort of way. Hinck’s age and terribly shy.

“Your skin has a red tint. Have you Magonian blood in your veins?”

Her eyes flashed wide and her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Janek gave her that slow, confident smile. “You’re not in trouble, Miss Shemme. I find Magonians delightfully mysterious.”

Before Shemme could reply, Sir Jayron let in a page boy. He handed a roll of parchment to Sir Jayron, who read it, narrowed his eyes, and carried the message to Janek.

“What is it?” Janek asked with a hint of exasperation. He took the message and read it. Whatever words were scratched upon the parchment changed all his plans. “Leave,” he told Shemme.

The relief on the maid’s face as she scurried from the tent matched that in Hinck’s heart.

Once she was gone, Janek told the page, “My answer is yes. Deliver it instantly.”

The boy nodded and ran off.

“What is it?” Kamran asked.

Janek handed him the scroll. “Do take note that I have done nothing to instigate this visit. She comes of her own accord. So you see, it is obvious that I am the favorite of every woman.”

This type of comment usually produced a snorting laugh or snide comment from Kamran, but the look on the stray prince’s face after he read the scroll could only be described as stunned.

A breath later Hinck saw why. The drape pulled aside, and Lady Zeroah Barta entered. Alone.

Was she insane? What did she mean by coming here by herself?

“Sâr Janek.” Lady Zeroah took hold of her black skirt and curtsied. “I hoped to get to know Sâr Wilek’s brothers better and thought I would visit you first. I did not realize you had company.”

“They were just going,” Janek said. When no one moved, he clapped his hands. “Get out!”

Everyone jumped to their feet. Hinckdan moved toward the exit, staring at Lady Zeroah in a daze. What madness had come over her?

All five exited the tent. Sir Jayron took his post outside the doorway with the other guards. Lady Mattenelle wandered off toward the soldier’s tents. Kamran mumbled something about getting some food and chased after her.

Hinck stumbled down the path to the main tent, his thoughts a fog of confusion. Where was he going? He stopped to rub his eyes, frustrated that he did not know his own mind. Lady Pia passed him by, and suddenly he remembered. Janek had sent them away. Why, he could not recall. A new woman, likely.

Lady Pia set off down the trail toward the ocean. Hinckdan followed, wanting to sit on the sand and think. He willed Lady Pia to take the next path to Lady Zenobia’s tent. Instead she slowed, turned her head, and met his gaze.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Sorry.” She stepped off the path and into the waist-high grass. “Am I blocking your way?”

“No,” he said, nervous to be speaking to her alone, to be so close. They were nearly the same height, and Hinck suddenly longed to be tall like Trevn.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“Me either. Was Kamran smoking his pipe tonight?”

Hinck tried to remember. “I think so.”

“Perhaps he was smoking something other than tobacco.”

That would explain why Hinck felt so strange. He grinned, relieved not to be losing his mind. “I bet you’re right.”

Lady Pia’s dark gaze seemed to cut through his, as if she had the power to read his thoughts. The moonlight glinted in her eyes and off the black onyx jewel in her nose.

She blinked and the spell was broken. Women should not have such power over a man. Hinck didn’t like the way it made him feel completely helpless.

He thought of Lady Eudora and how she had used him. “Lady Pia, do you think love and fidelity possible? I mean, have you ever known it to be true?”

“You ask such a question of a concubine? What would I know of love and fidelity?”

A fair point. “Forgive me . . . my thoughts are scattered. It’s only . . . Why do so many women say they want loyalty, then allow themselves to be used?”

“I cannot speak for so many women. Can you be more specific?”

“Well, yes. Lady Eudora told me she never wanted to be queen. So why marry Pontiff Rogedoth?”

“You have more experience with Lady Eudora than I do. Did she say something different before allowing you to use her?”

Hinck sucked in an injured breath and stalked off through the grass toward the ocean, annoyed at himself for bringing up the subject in the first place.

He reached the beach and dropped onto the soft, dry sand, leaning back on his arms. The night sky was clear, the waning moon still plump and bright. Out on the glassy water the fleet sat like floating candles, lighting the sea as if reflecting the stars above. The waves rushed in and out, splashing against a cluster of rocks off to his right and sizzling up the hard-packed sand toward his feet before sliding away again. Distant music and laughter trickled from the camp on his left. The peacefulness set his mind at ease.

Footsteps scuffed through the sand behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Lady Pia. She walked straight toward him, her silky skirt swishing with each step. She stopped on his right. “Something bothering you?” she asked.

He squinted out to the dark sea. “I realize it is no secret how much I once admired Lady Eudora.”

“Once?” Lady Pia asked. “Don’t you admire her still?”

He shook his head. “She used me to anger Janek. She never truly cared for me.”

“You sound like a jilted female.”

He looked up to her, saw her fight back a smile, which made him desperate to defend himself. “I am not so bad, you know, as young men go. I have a fortune and land—well, I did. Sâr Wilek assures me I still have my title, so unless we all drown, I will likely own land again someday. I am not cruel. A woman could do far worse than to marry me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You want to marry.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. “Sit down if you insist on talking to me. Looking up at you is giving my neck a crick.”

In one sweeping motion she sank crosslegged beside him, her skirt fanned out like a seashell over her legs and feet. He leaned forward, lifting his hands from behind him and setting his elbows over his bent knees.

“There was a time when you and Sâr Trevn were inseparable,” Lady Pia said. “Do you miss his company?”

“Sometimes.” Trevn could be trying, but Hinck missed his friend a great deal.

She sighed, staring up at the night sky. “If only we had a minstrel to employ,” she said, mercifully changing the subject. “This evening is too beautiful not to be cast into memory by words.”

“Are not concubines learned in such things?” Hinck asked.

“We are trained to entertain, but that does not make us gifted.”

The waves rushed toward them and fizzled out but two paces from where they sat. Hinck watched them glide back out to sea.

“I can’t imagine your occupation would be easy,” Hinck said.

“It isn’t, even with a kind master. Lady Lebetta was an exception. Sâr Wilek treated her almost like a wife. The rest of us are not so well off. Our occupation, as you put it, often leads to an early death.”

Her words shocked him. “Sâr Janek hurts you?”

She chuckled. “Nothing so dramatic as that. It is stress that kills so many concubines and mistresses. The stress of having to constantly be flawless. Beyond the physical demands of our relationship, we have one duty we cannot fail.”

“Obedience?”

She winked at him. “Not if we are clever. We must learn our charge well. Know his needs before he asks. Listen to his woes. Comfort him in the way that best fits his personality. We must be unfailingly charming, devoted, amusing, and beautiful yet never detract attention from our lord, lest we outshine his glory.”

“That sounds near impossible.”

“Perfection is impossible, but that is our role.”

They sat in silence and stared into the night. Lady Pia began to fidget, threading her fingers together and apart. He wondered what she was thinking. Why she was here. What could possibly be making her nervous. While Hinck’s memory was still foggy, he was nearly certain that Janek had not commanded her to give Hinck any special attention. So what did she want?

A minstrel, she’d said. Someone to cast the beautiful night into words.

Hinck looked up at the starry sky and made his best attempt at poetry. “In a boundless expanse are we, two, where grains of sand are the multitude. In a black field is the moon, one, abounding in stars . . . thieving . . . its solitude.” He winced inside, hoping that would do.

From the edge of his vision, he saw Lady Pia’s head turn to look at him. His cheeks burned at her scrutiny and he shrugged one shoulder. “Not very good.”

“You made that up?” she asked. “Just now?”

Another shrug. “I like words.”

“You are very good with them, Lord Dacre. You without any training at all as a concubine.”

Hinck chuckled, pleased by her praise and teasing. And in that moment everything changed. He saw Lady Pia, not just as someone Janek owned, but as a human being. And he liked her very much.