.XVI.

HMS Destiny, 56, Howell Bay, Kingdom of Old Charis, Charisian Empire

“I imagine you wish you’d been home longer.”

Irys Daykyn stood at the after rail of HMS Destiny, watching as the steeples and rooftops of the city of Tellesberg disappear into the distance. She wasn’t quite certain how she’d found herself standing there. It wasn’t as if Tellesberg was her home town, after all! Yet somehow it had … just happened, and she was a little surprised by how comfortable it felt.

“Seamen get used to it, Your Highness,” Hektor Aplyn-Ahrmahk replied, his own eyes on the brilliantly gilded scepter flashing back the sun in golden glory from atop Tellesberg Cathedral’s highest steeple. He shrugged. “Merchant sailors only get short visits between voyages, and those of us in the Crown’s service spend a lot longer at sea between them than most.” He turned his head to look at her and smiled slightly. “I think that makes us appreciate it more when we do get home, but at the same time, we don’t quite … fit ashore anymore. This”—the wave of the hand took in the masts, sails, rush of water, and croon of wind—“is where we fit. To be completely honest, this has been my ‘home’ since before I was Daivyn’s age. When I visit my parents, my brothers and sisters, I’m visiting in their home now, not mine.”

“Really?” A shadow touched her eyes. “That’s sad.”

“Oh, no, Your Highness!” He shook his head quickly. “Or not any sadder than for anyone when they grow up. Mother and Father will always be what I think of when I … reach back for where I came from, but every child has to become an adult someday, doesn’t he? Or she? And when that happens, they have to find their own places in the world. That’s something a life at sea teaches early, too.”

She studied his face and expression, and then, slowly, she nodded.

“I suppose that’s true. But at the same time, isn’t home what makes us who we are? The place we’re constantly comparing other places and other times to?”

“Maybe.” He cocked his head, considering. “Maybe,” he repeated, “but we outgrow it, too. We have to learn and change.”

He snorted suddenly and grinned. There was at least a hint of remembered pain in that grin, she thought, yet that only seemed to make him appreciate whatever had prompted it even more strongly.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking how much my life’s changed, Your Highness!” He twitched his head in Countess Hanth’s direction. “I remember the day Earl Hanth returned to his earldom. We delivered him to Hanth Town on this very ship, you know.”

“No.” She shook her head, turning to look in the countess’ direction herself, and her own lips quirked. “No, I hadn’t realized Sir Dunkyn’s made such a habit of delivering people places.”

“He’s an interesting man, Sir Dunkyn,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said. “And so is Earl Hanth. I was only a midshipman then, of course, and His Majesty had only just hung this ridiculous title on me. I was feeling … overwhelmed’s probably a pretty good word, I guess. And Earl Hanth felt the same, given what an incredible mess that bastard—” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t use that kind of language speaking to you, Your Highness. But I can’t think of a better word for Tahdayo Mahntayl, and he left Shan-wei’s own mess for the Earl to clean up. I think he would’ve given just about anything to stay plain old Colonel Breygart, but he couldn’t run away any more than I could, so he gave me some good advice, instead. None of which makes it seem any less crazy sometimes, when I think about it.”

“Would you like to go back to being someone else?” She wondered why she’d asked the question almost before it was out of her mouth, yet she watched his face intently.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Or maybe I just think I’d like to. As Archbishop Maikel says, we are who we are, and all anyone can ask of anyone else is that we be who we are to the very best of our ability. And who I am now, ridiculous as it may seem, is His Grace the Duke of Darcos, so that’s who I have to be. I can’t go back to being plain old Hektor Aplyn any more than a chicken or wyvern can crawl back into the egg. And it’d be pretty stupid to pretend there aren’t some nice advantages to the change.” He gave her another quick grin. “Mother and Father tried to tell me not to waste money on them when I first suggested it, but I don’t think they really mind living in Darcos Manor, now that they’ve gotten used to it. I did have to point out to them that it came with the title and it would just stand empty the entire time I was at sea if they didn’t, so they’d actually be doing me a favor by living there. I’m not sure Father bought my argument, of course, but Cayleb—I mean, His Majesty—was pretty insistent when he tried to talk his way out of it.” His grin turned into a smile. “And having the money to get the younger ones proper educations … that was a wonderful change, Your Highness. Did I tell you my brother Chestyr’s just been accepted at the Royal College?”

“No, you didn’t. Let’s see … Chestyr is the left-handed twin, is that right?”

“I see I’ve bored you with too many details about my family, Your Highness,” he acknowledged. “But, yes. Father’s proud enough of him to burst his buttons, although I think Mother’s a little more concerned about where exposure to all that ‘dangerous knowledge’ is likely to lead.”

Irys smiled and nodded, yet a part of her couldn’t help agreeing with Sailmah Aplyn. She was still very much in two minds about exactly what the Royal College represented, and her own temptation to embrace its knowledge only made that mental ambiguity murkier. And she knew not even Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s title would have won his brother admission if he hadn’t earned it. From its inception, the Royal College had admitted students solely on the basis of competitive examination, without favor or exception.

Still, from a practical, secular viewpoint, it didn’t matter one bit whether or not Chestyr Aplyn became a student there. If Charis lost its war, Zhaspahr Clyntahn would never allow a single member of the House of Ahrmahk—however remote, or however indirect the connection—to survive. He wouldn’t need Chestyr’s exposure to heretical or tainted knowledge for that, although the butcher would probably cloak his pogrom in the Inquisition’s responsibility to stamp out such blasphemous teachings.

Her smile faded at the thought, and she wondered why it disturbed her so, why it troubled her on such a … personal level. She’d only met Chestyr once, and despite his obviously keen intellect, he was still a scrubby schoolboy, all knees and elbows, with hair that stubbornly resisted the hardiest comb. His admiration for his magnificent older brother had been only too evident as well, and it had seemed as if there were far more than three years between him and Hektor.

That’s because he is a schoolboy, she realized, and Hektor—the Lieutenant, I mean—isn’t a boy … and hasn’t been since the battle of Darcos Sound, I imagine.

She laid a hand on his forearm, without realizing she had, as that thought went through her mind. Hector Aplyn-Ahrmahk was as much younger than her as Chestyr was younger than him, but only in years. He’d seen and done things she could only imagine—only try to imagine, because she was far too intelligent to think anyone could truly conceive of them without having actually experienced them. He’d won his title the hard way, and he’d become a member of what had become the most powerful ruling house in all of Safehold’s history, and what was his first thought? Was he proud of his honors? Did he reflect on how he’d been elevated to the most rarefied heights? No. He was grateful his new position let him move his parents into a comfortable home, pay for his brothers’ and sisters’ education. He was proud not of his honors but of the fact that his younger brother had been admitted to the Royal College. She tried to think of anyone she’d known in Corisande as her father’s daughter who would have felt the same way and wondered why she felt obscurely satisfied when she couldn’t.

“I understand why your mother might be a little concerned,” she said out loud, “but I’m happy for Chestyr. And for you. I can see how proud of him you are.”

“He always was the needle-witted one,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk agreed with a grin. “I expect he’ll rise to faculty level like one of the new rockets, and we’ll all walk around in awe of his erudition and fame.” His grin broadened. “That’s my new word for the day, you know—‘erudition.’ Has a fine ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, indeed it does!” she agreed with a laugh. “And a rich, rolling cadence, too!”

“Try to help me remember to use it casually in conversation this evening, if you would, Your Highness,” he said, his expression earnest. “Sir Dunkyn still requires me to learn one new word a day as part of my ongoing education.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to generate an opening over dinner,” she promised, and it was his turn to laugh.

*   *   *

Sharleyan Ahrmahk looked up from her daughter’s smiling face at the sound of laughter. She lifted Alahnah, holding her against her shoulder, and looked past her to where Irys Daykyn stood with one hand on Hektor’s forearm, smiling up into his face as they both laughed.

There was no sign of Prince Daivyn just at the moment, but she’d seen him and the two younger Breygart boys disappearing with a properly conspiratorial air. No doubt they were about to get into thoroughly satisfying amounts of mischief, which would undoubtedly end in the not too distant future with all three of them being hailed in front of their older sister and their stepmother in disgrace. The thought made her smile, despite the ache inside as Destiny and her accompanying squadron carried her and her daughter farther and farther away from Cayleb.

“Well,” Mairah Hanth said softly, “that seems to be going well.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sharleyan looked up at her taller, oldest friend, one eyebrow arched, her eyes innocent.

“Oh, don’t look so demure and guileless at me, Your Majesty! Or should I still be calling you ‘Your Grace’ until we clear The Throat?” Mairah shook her head. “I know it hasn’t crossed Hektor’s mind yet—I rather suspect he’s thinking with a rather less … cerebral portion, assuming he’s actually thinking at all—but I’ll guarantee you it’s flickered across her mental landscape a time or two. Not that she hasn’t probably jumped up to beat it to death with a shovel whenever it does.”

“I think you’re probably doing both of them a bit of a disservice,” Sharleyan replied with a much more serious expression. “Hektor’s a deeper pool than most people realize. I’m very satisfied with him, as a matter of fact, even if I can’t really claim any of the credit as his official stepmother. I got hold of him rather later in the process than you’ve managed with Hauwerd’s children. I’ll happily acknowledge that what he’s feeling is far from platonic, but it goes a lot deeper than that, too, and he’s not the sort to be impressed by glamour or birth. Not that Irys has made any attempt to impress him with either of those,” she added in the tone of someone giving another her just due. “Still, there’s still a lot of plain Hektor Aplyn in him, too—thank God!—and whether he lets it impress him or not, I guarantee you he’s never forgotten for a moment that unlike him, she was born into about the highest rank of the nobility imaginable. I’m not at all certain Hektor Aplyn is allowing himself to even consider acting on those … nonplatonic feelings of Hektor Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s, but I promise you, he’s aware of them.”

“And Irys?” Mairah asked, her own eyes more intent.

“She’s the one who just happened to gravitate across the deck, away from you and me, and without even trying to keep an eye on her brother, towards him, Mairah,” Sharleyan pointed out a bit tartly. “I’m certain she must be deeply conflicted where anything she might be feeling about him is concerned, though. In fact, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she’s the one who hasn’t realized what she’s not thinking about at the moment. I could be wrong, and God knows her situation’s complicated enough to make anyone think three or four or five—or a hundred—times about anything that could affect her position, or her brother’s. Maybe she has thought about it and figured out how she wants to deal with it, but I don’t think so.”

“Do you want me to encourage her to think about it?” Mairah asked quietly. Sharleyan looked at her sharply, and the countess shrugged. “I’m not about to push her into anything she doesn’t want to do, Sharley. For one thing, I’m not that stupid. In her situation, even an idiot—and Irys is far from an idiot!—would have to be suspicious if anyone started trying to shove her into Hektor’s arms. And if that ‘anyone’ happened to be someone she knows is as close to you as I am, she’d instantly leap to the perfectly correct conclusion that you’d put me up to it. By the same token, she has to be as aware of the potential advantages—for the Empire, at any rate—as you and I are, and she has to be nervous about her brother.”

“You’re thinking about how quite a few rulers—her father comes to mind—might encourage her to marry a member of their own family and then quietly … remove Daivyn in some unpleasantly permanent fashion so they could claim the throne through her children?” Sharleyan’s huge eyes had turned grim, and Mairah nodded.

“It has to cross her mind, Sharley,” she said softly. “She loves him. No, let’s be more accurate about it—she dotes on that boy, even if she is smart enough to try her damnedest not to spoil or indulge him. From a thing or two she’s said, I think she worries about the way her older brother was turning out before he was killed. She’s determined Daivyn isn’t going to do that, and Coris is backing her all the way. It helps that Tobys is in her corner, too,” the countess added, her eyes twinkling suddenly as Tobys Raimair emerged from the amidships hatch hauling his vociferously arguing liege lord by the scruff of a tunic which had magically gone from pristine to ruined in less than thirty minutes.

Sharleyan turned her head to follow her gaze as two more of Irys’ armsmen followed Raimair with Haarahld and Trumyn Breygart in tow. If anything, Haarahld looked even more disheveled than Daivyn, and his expression turned suddenly anxious as he beheld his stepmother.

Daivyn’s protests increased in vigor, not to say desperation, as his sworn guardsman marched him towards his sister. The other two armsmen followed him, and it was apparent Haarahld, at least, was vastly relieved by the prospect of being dragged before a mere princess rather than haled before his stepmother.

So far, at least.

Sharleyan and Mairah watched Irys turning from her conversation with Aplyn-Ahrmahk to fold her arms and glower down at the filthy, still loudly expostulating Prince of Corisande, and Mairah laughed.

“No wonder she loves the scamp! And”—her voice turned more serious—“I know she’s more relieved than she could ever admit to anyone about how he’s responded to getting out of Delferahk. But that’s my point. No matter what she may want—or think she wants—that girl will never do anything that might hurt or threaten her brother. So the trick, if you do want to encourage her, would be to reassure her that it wouldn’t threaten him.”

“Maybe.” Sharleyan used her free hand to cup the back of Alahnah’s head and leaned closer to press a kiss on the little girl’s cheek. Then she looked back at Mairah. “No, not ‘maybe’—not in that regard, at least. But the last thing we’d want to do, assuming we did want to encourage things between her and Hektor, would be to turn it into some sort of quid pro quo. If she thought we were offering to spare Daivyn if she’d marry Hektor, she might well do it, but she’d never forget she’d been pressured into it. Worse, she’d always wonder if we wouldn’t have spared Daivyn if she hadn’t agreed.”

“Something to think about,” Mairah agreed, her expression thoughtful as she watched Daivyn doing his very best to explain the state of his apparel and person to his sister. “Definitely something to think about. But it would be ever so useful in ever so many ways, wouldn’t it?”

“Ever the mistress of understatement, Mairah,” Sharleyan said dryly. “Of course, Clyntahn and the others—probably quite a few diehards in Corisande, for that matter—would scream we’d forced her into marrying our base-born henchman and that we were planning on having Daivyn killed any time now. But for anyone with a working brain in Corisande—?” She snorted. “As Merlin would say, hard to see the downside of that one.”

“Besides which,” Mairah said softly, “you think it would truly make them happy.”

“Besides which I hope it would make them truly happy,” Sharleyan corrected, hugging her daughter with both arms. “You know how seldom it’s given to people like Irys to be allowed to marry for happiness and not for reasons of state, Mairah. Cayleb and I have been more blessed than anyone could possibly deserve to take such joy in one another. I’d love to see Irys—and Hektor—find the same sort of joy. Is that so much to ask, given all the pain and horror that’s been loosed upon the world?”

“Of course it isn’t.” Mairah Breygart touched the side of Empress Sharleyan’s face the way Mairah Lywkys had once touched a much younger Queen Sharleyan’s face when the world’s demands beat in upon her. “Of course it isn’t, and I hope they do. But they aren’t just anyone, you know—any more than you and Cayleb were. So, do I get behind and gently push or do I stand back and let nature take its course?”

“For now, we let nature have its way,” Sharleyan replied. “We’ve got five-days before we ever get to Chisholm. Let’s see how things shape up.”

“But you’re definitely not opposed to the notion?”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“No, not very much, now that I think about it,” Mairah replied with a smile. Then she turned her head as Irys started across the deck towards them, followed by a somewhat woebegone Daivyn and the two younger Brothers Breygart, with three armsmen and a navy lieutenant (who was obviously having a very hard time not laughing out loud) in her wake.

“For the moment, though, I think I’ve got something else to deal with,” she said from the corner of her mouth, eyes dancing as she took in Irys’ expression. “It looks like this ought to be good, too. But I’ll bear our conversation in mind.”

Her eyes came back to Sharleyan’s for a moment, and the empress nodded. Then it was the empress’ turn to regard the procession of culprits sternly.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Lady Hanth asked pleasantly.

“It would appear my little brother has been leading your sons astray, Lady Mairah.”

“I did not!” Daivyn protested. “I was—we were—only going down to the orlop deck, Lady Mairah. We would’ve stopped there—really we would have!—but … but the hatch was open, and no one said we couldn’t—”

“Daivyn!” Irys interrupted the torrent and he looked at her quickly. “Let me finish giving Lady Mairah my version of events. I’m sure I have it all entirely wrong, and you’ll have your opportunity to explain it all to her when I’m done.”

Daivyn looked rebellious when she started speaking, but his expression relaxed in obvious relief at the offer of the opportunity to explain all the manifold reasons none of it was his fault. His sister looked back down at him for a moment, then shook her head.

“You do remember she has three sons of her own, don’t you?” she asked her brother. “How many times have you seen Haarahld or Trumyn put one over on her?”

Daivyn abruptly looked much more thoughtful, and she nodded.

“That’s what I thought, too,” she told him, and turned back to Lady Hanth. “As I was saying, Lady Mairah, my little brother here convinced Haarahld and Trumyn to go below decks and ‘explore.’ Exactly how they got away from Tobys is something he and I will be discussing later.” The bald, fiercely mustachioed armsman behind her rolled his eyes in philosophical resignation. “At any rate, it would appear that when no one was looking, they found the cable tier. Now, anyone with any sense—I realize we’re talking about my brother here, but still—would’ve realized that since we set sail less than an hour ago, the cable would still be just a little wet. However—”