When next Hinck’s brand burned to signal a meeting of the Lahavôtesh, his heart leapt with hope. Sâr Wilek had been anxious for news of the rebels. As Hinck made his way down into the hold of the Seffynaw, he hoped whatever was said today would be enough for Wilek to finally arrest everyone. When he reached the compartment, the guard there sent him back up to the Honored Lady Zenobia’s cabin. When Hinck asked why, the man would only say, “Ask the mistress.”
So Hinck climbed back up the four flights of stairs and made his way to the cabin of the king’s oldest concubine, a room that turned out to be smaller than the compartment in the hold. Inside, he found everyone sitting along the walls or on the bed. All the usual faces were present except for Kamran and Janek.
Hinck took a seat beside his uncle Canbek. “Why are we meeting here?” he whispered.
“Because the mistress commanded it,” Canbek said without looking Hinck’s way. His uncle was wearing one of his old cat pelts, but it no longer gave him a rich and lustrous air. The fur had become as grimy as Canbek’s hair, which had been slicked back over his scalp. Fashion and style, it seemed, had died with the Five Realms.
“Now that we are all present,” Zenobia said, “I have—”
“No Kamran?” Lady Mattenelle asked.
“Not today,” Zenobia said. “We have yet to make any progress on sinking the ship, but a new development has arisen. Madame Hara, the cook, came to me with an offer. She has a bottle of evenroot juice and wants me to use it to kill the rosâr, who she believes had her daughter murdered.”
Excited chatter broke out among the group.
Shemme was dead? Hinck had heard about the girl’s pregnancy and that she’d named Janek as the father, but that she’d been killed for it . . . He felt sick.
“With root you can kill the Heir too,” Fonu said. “Then Moon Fang can take the ship as his own, and we won’t have to sink it.”
“Sâr Wilek is looking for this root,” Zenobia said. “The cook told him she had used it all. Their search turned up nothing. In truth, she had it hidden well.”
“When do we get it?” Fonu asked.
“I overstepped in my eagerness and mentioned killing Sâr Wilek,” Zenobia said. “This angered the cook. She insists Sâr Wilek not be harmed.”
“So let her think you won’t harm him, then kill her too,” Fonu said. “So long as you get the root.”
Zenobia sighed heavily. “Do stop interrupting me, Fonu.”
He sat back on the bed and set one foot over his other knee. “Go on.”
“I have consulted with Moon Fang,” Zenobia said. “I will promise the cook that I will kill only the king. In the turmoil of his death, I will use the evenroot to take control of the Seffynaw and kill the sârs. Then Moon Fang will send a shadir to lead our ship to his.”
“Kill all the sârs?” Fonu asked. “Janek too?”
“Janek is not to be touched,” Zenobia said.
“Why not search the kitchen, take the root ourselves?” Canbek asked.
“Or have your shadir follow her and tell you where it is,” Lady Mattenelle said.
“Even better,” Fonu suggested, “get Janek to use the newt. It will find the root in no time.”
“We are not going to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity,” Zenobia said. “There is no point in stealing the juice. When Hara hears my vow, she will gladly give it over.”
Not if Hinck could stop it.
They devised a plan for the mutiny. Once Lady Zenobia received the root juice from Hara, she would again summon a meeting. Everyone would get a sip, then all would set off to take the royals into captivity. They divided the list of targets between them. Lady Zenobia would poison the king. Sir Jayron would deal with Sâr Wilek. Canbek would distract his brother, Danek. Lady Mattenelle volunteered to subdue Sârah Zeroah. When Hinck volunteered to capture Trevn, Fonu jumped in and said he had a plan to lure Sâr Trevn to another ship and keep Janek out of the way too. Lady Zenobia instead assigned Hinck the task of abducting Miss Onika. With the other royals confined, the guards would have no choice but to comply.
“The call could come at any moment,” Lady Zenobia said. “You must be ready.”
They left one at a time so as not to be seen together. When Hinck’s turn came, he headed to his cabin. He wanted to go straight to Sâr Wilek, but Lady Pia’s warning still rang in his mind and Lady Mattenelle’s offhanded comment to have a shadir follow Cook Hara frightened him. It had never occurred to him that shadirs could do that. Had they been following him all this time? Did the entire Lahavôtesh know he was Sâr Wilek’s man?
Surely he would be dead by now, if that were the case.
He entered his cabin and secured the door behind him, aware that doing so would not keep out a shadir. The waning moon outside sent pale light through his small window. Barely enough to see by. He sat on the bed he’d made on the floor under his hanging cot and sighed heavily. What was he to do now? Sâr Wilek had to be informed at once. But when? How?
“Was it that bad?”
Hinck pushed to his knees at the sound of the woman’s voice and squinted in the dimness. Lady Pia, dressed all in black, sitting cross-legged on his desk.
“Lady Pia.” He sank back to the floor.
She hopped down, and Hinck saw that she was wearing men’s trousers. He had never seen a woman in trousers before.
“Come now, lord.” She sank beside him and bumped her shoulder with his. “If they’ve sent you out, there isn’t much time. What happened?”
Hinck relayed the main points of the meeting, feeling heavy. “I fear they still suspect me. I am sure to bungle this and end up dead along with everyone I am trying to protect. I found out tonight there are shadir everywhere. They could be watching me. I’m certain one of them will overhear a conversation between me and Sâr Wilek, or me and you, and they will kill us all.”
“Worry not,” she said. “Shadir cannot kill without a mantic to direct them. And the mantics do not have any evenroot. Yet.”
“They will soon,” Hinck said. “In the meantime Sir Jayron has a sword and a long reach.”
“Chin up, poet. We are nearly there. I will tell Sâr Wilek what happened. In the morning he will advise you.”
Hinck sighed. He’d grown weary of spying and longed for the days when his biggest concern was how Trevn had managed to lose him on the rooftops of Everton.
Lady Pia threaded her fingers with his. “I sense a connection between us, lord.”
He looked into her eyes, and she surprised him with a kiss.
He went rigid. Or tried to, anyway. His lips trembled under her soft, sure ones. A beautiful, glorious woman liked him. Him! Hinckdan Faluk, who never, ever won the girl.
But this couldn’t happen.
It took all his strength and willpower to turn his head and break the connection.
Her brow creased in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
He chose his words carefully, not wanting her to misunderstand. “Forgive me, lady. You are not wrong about my feelings for you, but I . . . You are his.”
Understanding softened her expression. “I belong to Sâr Janek, you mean.”
He glanced down at their entwined fingers, suddenly embarrassed. “Yes.”
She squeezed his hand and stood. “I must take your news to Sâr Wilek.”
As Hinck watched her go, loneliness threatened to choke him. It didn’t matter. One more night and all this madness would end. Sâr Wilek would arrest the traitors, and Hinck would be free to return to his life as Trevn’s backman.
All he had to do was wait.