Kalenek

Since Kal couldn’t go to his own cabin, he went to Novan’s and changed into a new set of plain clothes. He and Novan were close to the same size, though the shirt was snug across the shoulders. Kal took a few more essentials, wrote a letter to his girls, and set off to see Onika.

There was no way to sneak in. As High Shield of Arman, Kal had seen to that. So he took a risk and went to her cabin on the hunch that Nayman and Tanor wouldn’t yet know of the recent happenings.

“Good dawning,” Kal said as he walked up to the door and knocked.

“Sands! Look at you,” Nayman said. “I heard you got a piece of Sâr Janek last night, but it sure looks like his dogs got you good.”

Kal was suddenly aware of the ache in his nose. Rescuing Amala seemed to have happened days ago, not merely last evening. “I did what I had to.”

“What most all of us have been wanting to do for years,” Tanor said.

“Do you know what happened in Sâr Janek’s cabin last night after they arrested you?” Nayman asked.

Kal feigned ignorance. “Something wilder than the High Shield of Arman attacking a sâr?”

“I’d say. Lady Pia came tearing out well after night bells. She brought back at least a dozen guards, and—”

Blessedly the door opened and Kempe, Onika’s maid, looked out. When she saw Kal, her eyes widened and lingered on his bruised face. “Sir Kalenek, welcome back. Miss Onika will be pleased you are here.” She opened the door wider.

Kal entered, dreading what he must say. Did Onika know what he’d done?

He found her sitting in a chair by the window, Rustian curled up by her feet. While he was still several steps away, she spoke.

“Sir Kalenek has returned, Rustian. No man walks with such purpose as he.”

Kal stopped beside her chair and looked down on her face. The candlelight made her skin ghostly in the surrounding darkness of the cabin. It made him smile. Onika always brought light to the darkness.

“You are quiet this dawning, Sir Kalenek.”

“I have come to say farewell.”

Her brow pinched. “But you’ve only just returned.”

“My work aboard the Rafayah is going to take longer than I had first thought. I . . . don’t plan to return. Ever.”

Her glassy eyes did not shift, but Kal caught the quiver of her chin. “So we are here. Who will Sâr Wilek put in charge of my guards now that you are going away?”

“Oli, I suppose. He will do a fine job.”

“I prefer you to the Duke of Canden or anyone else.”

“I am sorry, lady.” He paused, digging deep for the courage to confess. “I have done something that even Sâr Wilek as my friend cannot forgive.”

She reached for him, clutched his tunic near his hip. “Arman always forgives. Do not forget that.”

“Not this, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, Sir Kalenek! Even this, whatever it is.”

“I—”

“Do not tell me! I am not a god to hear the confessions of men.” She settled both hands in her lap, linking her fingers. “If you must leave, then promise me that should you see Grayson again, you will give him this message. Tell him: ‘Hold tight to your secret until you come to those twice your size. Then embrace who you are and let all know what you can do.’”

Her words clogged Kal’s thoughts. What was she talking about? When would he see Grayson? “That makes no sense.”

“It will to Grayson when the time is right.”

He repeated her message aloud, memorizing it, and said, “Should I find the boy, I promise to tell him.” He crouched beside her chair, took hold of her hand, and gave her the letter he wrote to the girls. “Will you see that Mielle gets this letter when she returns?”

“Yes, of course. But why don’t you give it to her yourself?”

“I have my reasons. Miss Onika, time and again you have spoken of a future that gives me reason to hope that all is not lost between our friendship. I beg you now to explain.”

She fixed her glassy stare on his face, her lips frowning slightly. “I don’t know for certain. You have always been Rescuer to me, a title given you by Arman. You found me in Magonia and led me safely here. And you will find me and rescue me again. This separation will be a difficult period for both of us. We will suffer greatly before Arman brings healing.”

Always she came back to her god’s healing. She needed to know the kind of man he was. She deserved so much better. “Suffering is all I deserve, Miss Onika. I’ve toyed with darkness my whole life. Now it has consumed me. Darkness wins, Miss Onika. Darkness always wins.”

“You are wrong,” she snapped. “Darkness only wins those who give themselves over to it.”

“I have done just that.”

“Then step back into the light! It is always one choice away.”

She made everything sound so simple, but Kal knew better. Life was a tangled knot of pain that could never be straightened.

“You are not the only one who struggles with darkness, Sir Kalenek. Everyone does. It is coming to me as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Darkness will soon take me captive. If I can trust Arman in that place of horror, he will sustain me and help me keep sight of the light.”

“Miss Onika, if you sense trouble, flee from it. Do not draw close to the darkness. Stay safe at all costs.”

“Is that what you did on Bakurah Island when you stepped between Sâr Wilek and his assassin?”

Shame threatened to overwhelm Kal. She thought him a hero and knew nothing of the villain he really was.

“Some walk into the darkness eagerly,” she said. “Some dread the duty. Yet others have darkness thrust upon them. But all who seek the light again will find it.”

His words tightened in his throat. “I will miss your censure, Miss Onika. And your hope.”

“And I your steady voice and hand in my own.” She reached out, and he took hold of her hand. “Will you kiss me good-bye?”

She wanted his kiss? He glanced across the room at the maid and struggled to keep his voice calm. “That would not be appropriate.”

“Propriety is the least of my worries. Besides, I will need the memory of your loving kiss when stolen kisses seek to rob me of my sanity.”

After such an invitation Kal did not hesitate. He knelt before her chair and kissed her. Her lips were soft against his rough skin and tasted of salt water and mint. Her hands slipped up to his face, smooth thumbs caressing scarred cheeks. So long, it had been, since anyone had touched him this gently. That such a woman cared for him at all was miraculous indeed.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said.

Kal hugged her to him and kissed her hair, his chest and throat tight. How could he let her go, knowing something horrible loomed in her future? “When, Onika? How long must I wait until we meet again?”

“I know not.”

Kal kissed her once more, which only placed a fierce longing in his heart to take Onika with him. He could not do that, however, and finally forced himself to walk away from a woman he had come to love deeply.

Outside her cabin door, he passed by the guards. “Keep her safe,” Kal told them, walking away.

“Isn’t the prophetess coming out for breakfast?” Tanor asked.

“You’ll have to ask her.” Kal continued on, making his way toward the forward boat fall and an uncertain future. Strangely the bittersweet longing of leaving Onika behind felt justified. He deserved no happiness.

Kal reached the vice flagship just as the sun crested over the horizon. The waves had been raucous, and he was thankful to be on a ship again. He led himself to the door of the tiny cabin on the lower foredeck where he had left Mielle with Shemme—Kellah now, he reminded himself.

He nodded at the guards outside and knocked. “Are they here?”

“Uh . . .” The guard on the left side of the door looked across to the guard on the right. “I, uhh . . .”

“You don’t know?” What kind of guards were these?

Kal pushed the door open and stepped inside. Someone lay in the bed, covered by a thin blanket. “Mielle?” Sorrow seized his heart. How could he leave Mielle and Amala? Yet how could he not? Watching him die as a murderer would be no better than abandonment.

He settled on a chair beside the bed, where he could sit and look upon her face.

But it was not her face he saw.

It was Sâr Trevn’s face.

Kal drew back, despair seizing every inch of his body. Had he entered the wrong cabin? A quick glance revealed Mielle’s cloak in the corner.

Despair quickly shifted to rage. One step and he had dragged the young man from the bed and onto the floor. Sâr Trevn wore only a pair of trousers. His chest and feet were bare. “Get up! Now!”

The young sâr sat on his heels and squinted up at Kal. His expression of confusion quickly faded, and he had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Sir Kalenek, allow me to explain.”

Kal fell upon him again, grabbed his arm, and yanked him to his feet. “You think me a fool? I know exactly what has happened here. A thief has committed a crime and he must be punished.”

“We are married!” Trevn blurted out. “I beg forgiveness that I did not ask your permission first, but my father and brother would not have approved and we feared you would side with them.”

Kal shook him by the arm. “You aren’t the first sâr to stand through a false ceremony to convince a woman to lie with you.”

An expression of horror crossed the young sâr’s face. “I would never do that. I love Mielle. A Rurekan priest married us yesterday on the main deck. Ask anyone on board.”

A Rurekan priest? “Where is she?”

“With Miss Shem—Kellah. The girl is having pains. Mielle feared the baby is coming and took her to the birthing tent.”

“So soon?”

“Mielle believes the child is a black spirit. I think not. Miss Kellah confessed that her mother forced her to take evenroot when the child was conceived. I believe this early labor is an effect of the poison.”

Sâr Trevn’s logic was to be commended, but Kal had no desire to play friends at present. “Take me to them.”

“I must dress first,” Trevn said.

“Dress, then! I shall wait outside.” Kal left the cabin and posted himself with the two now sheepish guards. “A little warning next time? And where is Sir Cadoc?”

“Sâr Trevn sent him to accompany Miss Mielle,” one of the guards said.

At least the prince had some sense.

Married! It was too much. Yet his anger toward Sâr Trevn had already abated. How dare Kal wield judgement against Mielle and Trevn in light of his own crimes?

A short while later Sâr Trevn exited the cabin and frowned at the sky. “It’s clouding over again,” he said. “Swells are running deeper too. A storm is approaching.”

Wonderful. Kal was not eager to row through waves worse than those he’d just experienced. “Lead the way to your wife, Your Highness.”

Trevn’s gaze latched briefly onto Kal’s before he walked past him down the lengthway. He caught the arm of a middle-aged maid and bid her run ahead and tell Mielle they were coming to see her. “And tell the master’s mate on duty to put out the water barrels. We must collect the rain.”

The woman curtsied and ran off.

As they made their way up to the main deck, Kal shared his concern that the king would have Sâr Trevn’s wedding annulled. “Did you not think of Mielle’s reputation when you married so hastily?” he asked.

“Sir Kalenek.” The prince stopped at the bottom of the galley steps and faced him. “I realize that words will not convince you of my honor and worth, especially when I have initiated this secret wedding without your permission. Let me ease your distress. I will never leave or forsake Mielle. Even if my family forces us apart, I will not give her up. I would renounce my heritage first, so great is my devotion to her.”

Kal scoffed. “You think Sâr Wilek would allow that? I confess myself a fool, for I had conceded that you were well on your way to being the most intelligent of your brothers.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone. You may dislike me and what I’ve done, but I am still a sâr of Armania and should be treated with respect.”

“Boy . . .” Kal gritted his teeth in an attempt to rein his temper. “I am no longer a citizen of Armania, so I owe you nothing. Sir Cadoc, good morning.”

Trevn stopped outside a tent assembled on the main deck, where Sir Cadoc was standing guard. Sounds of crying infants were drowned out by the erratic screaming of a woman in pain.

Sir Cadoc nodded to Kal. “Glad to see you, sir.”

“This is the birthing tent?” Kal asked.

Sir Cadoc nodded. “Men aren’t allowed to go in without an invitation.”

“What did you mean by that, Sir Kalenek?” Trevn asked. “No longer being a citizen of Armania?”

The door flap opened, and Mielle exited. “Kal!” She threw her arms around his neck.

Grief stabbed low and deep in light of Kal’s newly bestowed exile. How could he leave this girl who had become like a daughter?

“How is Miss Kellah?” he managed to ask.

“Her labor has begun. The midwife says it won’t be long.” Mielle released him from her hug. “What happened to your face?”

Kal wouldn’t confess his crimes to Mielle in front of Sâr Trevn. “I had an altercation,” he said.

Mielle’s jaw dropped. “Trevn!”

“Not me!” Trevn said. “But I did tell him about us.”

Mielle turned pinched brows upon Kal and took hold of Trevn’s hand. “Do not be angry, Kal. I swear to you that we love each other just as much as you loved my sister.”

Kal doubted that very much. “I have orders from Sâr Wilek to check on Miss Kellah. He has given the guardianship of her and her child to me.”

“Guardianship?” Mielle asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means I must speak with her immediately.” Before she died in labor.

Mielle scowled at him as she slipped inside.

Perhaps Shemme wouldn’t die. Perhaps Wilek had been mistaken and both she and her child would come through the labor healthy and strong. That would certainly make things easier all around.

“Something has happened,” Trevn said, eyes narrowed at Kal. “My brother would not give you up so willingly to such a menial task. Not when he so recently assigned you to his most important prophetess.”

The boy was a quicker study than even Novan. “You are too clever for your own good, Your Highness,” Kal said. “Take care how freely you muse aloud, as it someday might provoke a villain to silence your wit.”

“I’ve tried to warn him of that many times,” Sir Cadoc said.

“Well, your life now belongs to another, Your Highness. If you will not take care for yourself, think of Mielle, would you?”

“I see your point,” Trevn said. “But why would Wilek give you an infant child when it has a mother to care for it?”

“I do not believe it will have a mother for long.”

The door flap opened, and Mielle waved them inside the tent. Sir Cadoc stayed behind. Sheets draped on lines partitioned one woman from the next. Mielle led them into a compartment along the left side. The space was twice as large as the narrow cot that Shemme was lying on. A Magonian woman sat on a stool beside the cot, holding Shemme’s hand.

“She is nearly ready for the birthing stool,” the woman said.

“This is Sir Kalenek Veroth, my guardian,” Mielle said, settling on the edge of the cot. “Kal, this is Miss Kellah’s midwife, Sonber.”

Sonber. The name froze Kal. He searched for its meaning and quickly remembered. Sonber was Agmado Harton’s true surname. Could this be his mantic sister? The one called Charlon?

The midwife regarded Kal, her eyes gray and suspicious. She was no bigger than Amala, had a small nose, downturned lips, and hair as curly and wild as a thornbush. She wore nothing but a blue-and-white kasah tied over one arm as a dress that left shoulders, arms, legs, and feet bare.

If this was the witch who had abducted Wilek and taken Sârah Zeroah’s likeness for so long, what could Kal do? He pretended not to make any connection. “Who assigned a midwife?”

“When Kellah went into labor, I didn’t know what to do,” Mielle said. “I came looking for help and found Sonber. I just knew it was Arman’s provision.”

Kal nodded but doubted that very much.

“I have given custody of the baby to Sonber,” Shemme said, panting, “in the event this child takes my life when it comes.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Mielle said. “You are going to be just fine.”

The Magonian witch had already convinced Shemme to give over her child? Not if Kal could help it. “We will deal with that situation if it comes, Miss Kellah,” Kal said.

“Which we pray it won’t,” Mielle added.

“I must remind you,” Kal added, “that you do not have sole rights to this child. I have come to represent its father’s interests.”

“He wants nothing to do with me!” Shemme yelled.

“Perhaps not. But his family would not abandon the babe as you might have thought. I have been sent to act as the child’s High Shield.”

“What does a baby need with a High Shield?” Trevn asked.

Kal shot him a glare, hoping he’d take the hint.

“I can protect the child,” Sonber said.

“No doubt you can, Miss Sonber,” Kal said, “but I have my assignment and will not fail it. I have leave to act as the voice of the child’s father in all matters concerning it and its mother’s welfare.”

“I can speak for myself a while longer,” Shemme said.

“And I must protest,” Sonber said. “In Magonia a father has no say in the upbringing of a child. That is for a woman to decide, and I insist that—”

Shemme’s bloodcurdling scream ended all discussion on the matter.

“Out!” Sonber yelled. “We must move Miss Kellah to the birthing stool. Miss Mielle, fetch us water.”

Mielle jumped to obey the midwife’s orders and rushed Kal and Trevn out of the tent.

When they reached Sir Cadoc, Kal grabbed Mielle’s arm and held tight until her eyes met his. “Take care with that midwife,” he said. “She is a mantic and not to be trusted. I fear she may be the same one who took Sârah Zeroah’s likeness.”

Mielle went rigid, her expression one of shock. “How do you know?”

“Agmado Harton’s real surname was Sonber. Charlon was his sister.”

“What shall I do?”

“Pay attention,” Kal said. “Stay with Miss Kellah at all times. We’ll send a maid for the water.”

Mielle nodded and slipped back inside the tent. Two maids eagerly went for water when the sâr asked.

“If that woman is dangerous, I don’t want Mielle anywhere near her,” Trevn said, his voice nearly a whisper.

“We need someone we can trust in there, Your Highness,” Kal said.

“What is so special about this child?” Trevn asked. “Why does the mantic want it?”

“The Magonians seek to fulfil a prophecy.” That much should not surprise this former priest-in-training. “It was why Charlon abducted your brother and later wore Sârah Zeroah’s mask. Magonia seeks a child fathered by one of the princes of Armania. They care not which.”

Trevn cleared his throat. “Because their prophecy states that Mother and Father will come together to produce their savior. The Deliverer.”

“Your education does you credit, Your Highness,” Kal said.

“So this child’s father is . . .” Trevn’s raised eyebrows awaited an answer. When Kal did not comply, the sâr made his guess. “Kamran’s, perhaps, though likely Janek’s.”

Guilt overwhelmed Kal at the mention of the name that had caused his exile.

“How could the mantic know who fathered the child?” Trevn asked.

Kal shrugged. “Miss Kellah might have said. Or the mantic’s shadir might know.”

“A shadir!” Trevn cried. “Cadoc, we must arrest this woman immediately.”

In Kal’s turmoil, the thought had not occurred to him. “Certainly, Highness. You and Sir Cadoc fetch the guard, but promise me that you will return to the Seffynaw to inform your brother that I am with the child and will do all I can to protect it.”

“I will go in the same boat with my captive,” Trevn said, then set off with Sir Cadoc, leaving Kal alone outside the birthing tent. It wasn’t long before one of the young maids came to fetch him.

“Is all well?”

“The babe is a healthy boy,” she replied, her voice cracking, “but the mother . . . she did not survive.”

Sorrow pinched Kal’s heart. Lore come to life was difficult when there was little tradition to inform expectations. He steeled himself as he returned to Shemme’s compartment. The air smelled horribly of blood, reminding Kal of the day he’d found Livy dead. He saw the body, lying on the bed, soaked in red. Not Livy, he reminded himself. Still, he backed out into the passageway, afraid to move closer until his heart calmed enough to look on the scene with indifference.

Someone was crying. A woman. She sniffled, spoke. “He’s remembering the war. Kal?”

Her face appeared before his, streaked in tears. Mielle. His girl. She had grown so fast. He would miss her.

“Are you well, Kal?” she asked, her hand on his arm.

“I am.” Though it was a lie.

“Miss Kellah died.” Mielle’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. Kal embraced her, held her tightly. “She lived long enough to hold the boy and kiss his swarthy head. She named him Shanek DanSâr, after herself and his father.”

Kal winced at the name. He needed to get the babe off this ship before word of a child with Hadar blood began to circulate.

The mantic stood against one wall, a bundle in her arms, watching him warily. Mielle blocked his view of the dead mother, so Kal released his ward and walked inside, keeping his gaze on the child. “May I see the babe?”

“You won’t harm him?” Sonber asked.

“No, I just . . . sometimes blood makes me remember things I’d rather forget. I did not mean to frighten you.”

The woman handed Kal the bundle. The weight surprised him. The light inside the birthing tent was very dim, but Kal could see the child’s skin was blotchy, like Grayson’s. A carpet of mossy black hair covered his head, and he weighed as much as a whole ham. Hara must have given Shemme a lot of root while she was pregnant. The child’s eyes fixed on his, clear like those of a mantic. Could this child someday be a threat to Armania? Might Kal have to take its life?

“He looks big, doesn’t he?” Kal asked. “Compared to a normal infant?”

“I noticed that too,” Mielle said, wiping her eyes. “Look at his hair. And he already has teeth.” She put her finger in the child’s mouth. “Two on the bottom and one coming in on the top. He is as big as a yearling. It’s no wonder Miss Kellah did not survive.”

The words made Kal cold inside. He focused on the warmth of the child, but strangely it offered little.

Shouts outside the compartment and the jangle of steel warned Kal that Sâr Trevn and Sir Cadoc had returned to arrest the mantic. The sâr stepped inside the compartment and pointed at the midwife. “Arrest that woman. She has committed crimes against the realm of Armania.”

The mantic lunged at Kal, wrapped her arms around him and the babe, and yelled, “Magon, shalosh soor!”

Flashing light pinwheeled, blinding Kal. He felt weightless. His feet no longer found purchase beneath him. He landed hard on an unstable surface, and his legs crumpled. He clutched the baby close to protect it. Cool air, water lapping, the roll of waves. He blinked at the steady brightness and found himself in a longboat that was tethered to the stern of the Rafayah.

“Give me the child,” a woman said.

Kal looked over his shoulder. The mantic was seated on the bench behind his. He turned to face her. “How did you do that?”

“I did not have enough strength. To carry us to the Vespara. Give me the child and row.”

“Put us back on the ship.”

“You will row us to the Vespara. And when we arrive, you will give witness to my people that I birthed this child from my own body.”

“I will do no such thing,” Kal said.

“You will, or I will end the life of your precious Mielle.”

Kal stared into the mantic’s pale eyes. “You bluff.”

“Had I been holding the child when Sâr Trevn arrived, I would not have brought you along. But Magon sees value in your services to our realm. If you want to protect the child, you will do as I say. Now hand the babe to me and row.”

Kal did not like this one bit, but he dared not risk Mielle to a mantic’s wrath, and putting as much distance as he could between them seemed the best option. He gave over the child, unlatched the tether that held the longboat to the tow ropes, then took up the oars and began to row in the direction the mantic indicated.

Nothing to do now but bide his time, remain with the child, and, as Onika would say, hope for the best, though such optimism was against everything in Kal’s nature.