Blade breaker, p.16
Blade Breaker, page 16
Isadere stared back, their eyes like iron.
“Thank you,” Corayne forced out, giving Isadere’s arms a squeeze before pulling back.
“And I do have something else for you. We do, I mean,” Isadere said, gesturing to their brother.
Sibrez bowed his head and unclasped his vambraces, the black leather guards around his forearms. They wrapped from the wrist to below the elbow, the leather patterned in gold with the same scaled design as his armor.
“You will be the first person beyond the Ela-Diryn to wear them,” he said, holding out the pair to Corayne. She looked them over, wide-eyed, before taking the vambraces with trembling hands. “Dirynsima. Dragonclaws.”
They were heavier than she expected, a good weight, with worn leather buckles on the underside to keep them in place around her arms. She turned them over, examining the finely made armor. With a gasp, she realized the extra weight came from a steel splint reinforcing the vambraces. Tiny but lethal triangular spikes stood out along the long outer edge, marching from wrist to elbow. Corayne tested one, and nearly drew blood.
Sibrez looked on proudly. If he missed his Dragonclaws, he did not show it.
“These vambraces can absorb the strike of a blade, if used properly,” he said, tapping a finger against the steel-enforced edge.
Sorasa appeared then, peering at the vambraces with discerning eyes. Whatever she saw in the leather guards, the Amhara certainly liked.
“She’ll learn,” she said, eyeing Sibrez.
Begrudgingly, he nodded in return.
“Thank you both,” Corayne said, her fingers tight on the gift. She wouldn’t wear them yet. Sailing with a set of spikes strapped to her body didn’t seem prudent. “I hope we meet again.”
Isadere nodded, sweeping back their arms, their trailing sleeves like the wings of a beautiful bird. “The mirror has not shown me the end of this road yet, but I hope so too.”
With another low bow, Corayne stepped back. A rowboat waited to take them to the galley, the Ibalet captain already at its prow. The others followed, breaking off to unload the saddlebags. It would take some time to ferry the horses to the galley, and Corayne knew it might be hours until they truly set sail. Still, it felt good to get on another ship, to set off in the right direction again.
The Companions made to go, but Isadere reached out, stopping Charlie with a hand, bidding him wait a moment.
Charlie met Isadere’s eye in silence. He could not have been further in appearance from the Heir: a short, heavyset young man with inky fingers and pale skin streaked by sunburns. But something seemed to unite them too. A reverence Corayne could not understand.
“We may not see eye to eye, but the goddess sees us both,” Isadere said, taking on the grave air of a prophet again. “She is with you, whether you feel it or not.”
Corayne braced for Charlie’s reply. To her surprise, he touched his brow and kissed his ink-stained fingers. A salute to the gods. Isadere matched it.
“On that we can agree,” Charlie said before tromping off to the boat. His saddlebags dangled from one shoulder, his many parchments, wax seals, and bottles of ink poking out.
What they would need on the road ahead, Corayne did not know yet. But she was eager to find out.
Once the horses were on board and settled below, thanks in large part to Sigil’s gentle coaxing, the galley left the coast behind, heading north. The oar deck held twenty-five rows split down the middle, with two rowers on each side, and they made good time into the Long Sea. Corayne stood at the rail, breathing deep of the sea air again. It fortified her somehow.
Sailor-soldiers crewed the Heir’s galley. Many were trained archers, taking turns defending the raised forecastle at the rear of the deck. They waited for the monsters of Meer, for krakens and sea serpents, but the Long Sea stretched blue and empty in every direction. No enemies, at least not any Corayne could see.
But she certainly still felt them. Erida and her army marching through Madrence, gaining mile after mile. Her uncle Taristan growing stronger by the second, hunting for Spindles to tear apart. How long until he tears too many?
Every passing moment could be the last, Corayne knew, though she tried not to dwell on it. Such a burden was too much for her to bear on top of everything else. She flagged against the ship railing, content to stay still, glad for the moment of quiet. Behind her, stacked crates hid her from most of the deck, and most of its occupants.
But for one.
“How long until we make port again?”
Corayne smiled as Andry rounded the crates. He leaned up alongside her, his elbows on the rail, his long brown fingers knitted together. The sea breeze played in his hair, rustling the heavy coils.
“Your hair’s getting longer,” Corayne said, remembering what he looked like when she first saw him. A young man at the door to his mother’s apartments, his eyes kind and welcoming, ready to help the unknown girl before him. But there had been a darkness to him even then, the memory of a massacre tearing at his insides. It clung to him now. She hoped it would not last.
The squire ran a hand over his scalp with a sheepish smile. A few tight curls spiraled against his fingers, growing more defined by the day. “I’ve been a bit busy for haircuts.”
“Shocking,” she answered with a dry laugh.
His eyes flickered over the waves, searching the depths. She saw unease in him.
“I’m beginning to suspect you don’t like sailing,” Corayne said, shifting to face him. Her hip bumped the rail.
“Not when there could be krakens and serpents under every wave.”
“Well, there’s one less than when we crossed. That’s something.”
“That’s something,” he echoed, his eyes distant. “I’m beginning to suspect you’re hiding.”
Corayne glanced at the stacked crates around them and shrugged.
“If Sigil and Sorasa see me idle, they’ll make me train,” she muttered. A wave of exhaustion broke over her at even the thought of more fighting lessons. “I just wanted a moment to myself. Give the bruises a little more time to heal.”
Andry nodded, his grin still fixed, but it no longer reached his eyes. “Of course, I’ll take my leave.”
“No, don’t you run off.” She caught his arm before he was out of reach, pulling him back to the rail. His smile widened, and so did Corayne’s. “You’re too polite for your own good, Andry Trelland,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Remember, you’re running with criminals and castoffs now.”
“I’ve been aware of that for some time.”
His eyes hardened and found the sea, looking not to the waves, but to the horizon beyond it. East, Corayne knew, tracking his gaze. To his mother? To Kasa, her homeland, where she waits for a son she might never see again? She remembered Valeri Trelland, ill but resolute, a pillar of strength in her wheeled chair. Or does he look to Ascal, where he left his honor in the shattered hall of Erida’s palace?
“You should let your bruises heal too,” Corayne said in a low voice, hesitant.
He sucked in a harsh gasp. “There’s a difference between healing and forgetting, Corayne. I will never forget what I’ve done.”
The words stung. “And you think I will?”
“I think you’re trying to move forward in any way you can, but—”
“But?”
“Don’t lose your heart along the way.”
Corayne felt her heart now, still stubbornly beating inside her chest. She put a hand to it, feeling the pulse beneath her skin. “It’s not going anywhere. I promise.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it certainly felt like one.
“Less than a week to land,” Corayne said, looking back to the sea for an easy change of subject. “If the weather remains favorable.”
“Will it?”
She twisted her lips, thinking. “The worst of the autumn storms are to the east, where the Long Sea meets the ocean.” The sky above them was perfect, a sailor’s dream. “I think the winds will hold for us. It’ll be the first bit of luck we’ve had.”
Andry squared his shoulders to Corayne and looked her over. His expression pulled in confusion. “I think we’ve had a great deal of luck.”
She tossed back her windblown hair. “We must define the word differently.”
“No, I mean it.” Andry drew closer, his voice firmer than before. “We came to Ibal to close a Spindle. We did it. And we’re all still breathing. I certainly call that luck.”
“And what about me?” Corayne’s mouth filled with a sour taste. She knew it as regret. “Would you consider me lucky?”
His eyes flashed. “You’re alive. That’s enough.”
“Alive,” Corayne scoffed. “Born to a mother who leaves with every good tide. A father I never met, who still somehow holds sway over me, his influence in my very blood. His failure, this curse of what I am—and I don’t just mean the Spindles.” Her hands shook at her sides, and she shoved them behind her back, trying to hide her emotions as best she could. But she couldn’t hide the way her voice quivered. “Corblood makes us restless, rootless, always yearning for the horizon we can never reach. It’s why Old Cor conquered, spreading in every direction, searching for some place to call home. But they never, ever found it. And neither will I.”
Andry looked stricken, his face twisting with pity. “I certainly hope that isn’t true.”
She could only flush, embarrassed by her outburst. She put her back to Andry and the sea, one hand white-knuckled on the rail. The deck of the ship creaked beneath his boots as he took a step, closing the distance between them. She heard him draw a breath, felt the lightest brush of a hand on her shoulder.
And then Sorasa rounded the stack of crates like a leopard prowling her den. She crossed her arms, looking them over. Corayne pursed her lips, trying to will all trace of her feelings away.
Thankfully, Sorasa Sarn felt pity for no one, Corayne included.
“Hiding?” the assassin said, ignoring Corayne’s blotchy face.
“Never,” she answered, pushing off the rail.
“Good.” Sorasa spun on her heel, gesturing for her to follow. Corayne did so eagerly, happy to leave Andry and all thoughts of her wretched blood behind. “Let’s teach you how to use those Dragonclaws.”
But Corayne did glance back, finding Andry still at the rail, his warm, soft eyes following her every step.
“I’ll put on some tea,” he said, going for his pack.
And so the days went, slipping by like the waves against the ship. Corayne’s eye was true. The weather remained clear, though the air grew thick with moisture the closer they came to the shores of Ahmsare, the nearest kingdom. Clouds formed on the western horizon, toward the warmer waters of the Tiger Gulf, but no storms came close to the galley. Neither did any serpents or krakens, though the sailors and the Companions kept watch every night, lanterns blazing the length of the galley. It was the only time Corayne ever saw Dom, who spent most of his time with his head in a bucket, retching up whatever he’d managed to eat that day.
Sigil and Sorasa worked Corayne through her lessons in the morning, allowing her the afternoons to recover. Valtik would join them to watch, her rhymes dancing between Paramount, a language they all knew, and Jydi, which Corayne could barely comprehend. She even prayed over Corayne’s new vambraces, rubbing the Dragonclaws down with her old bones. As usual, the witch made little sense, but her presence was a comfort all the same. Especially after what she’d done to the kraken at the oasis, shoving it back into a Spindle with some spell. The sailors avoided the old witch as best they could, giving her a wide berth on the deck. A few made signs of the gods in her direction, sneering at her collection of bones.
Charlie passed the time in far more interesting fashion.
Still fighting the aches and pains of the morning, Corayne found him one afternoon, tucked away at the bow of the ship. He was standing, bent over a small workspace, little more than a plank set across two barrels.
Corayne chose her steps carefully, letting the crew and the slap of waves mask the sound of her boots on the deck. It was almost too easy to sneak up on Charlie and peer over his shoulder.
His fingers moved painstakingly slow as he inked a piece of parchment. Corayne eyed the page and recognized the emblem of Rhashir—a four-tusked white elephant on bright orange. It was excruciatingly precise work, and he timed his marks between dips of the sea.
“I do not enjoy being spied on, Corayne,” he drawled, making her jump.
She flushed, but he turned around with a half smile. The fugitive priest had ink on his brow and a spark in his eyes.
Corayne grinned, nodding to the parchment behind him. “Practicing?”
“Something like that,” he answered, careful to keep himself between Corayne and the tabletop.
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Rhashiran sigil before.” She tried to step around him, but Charlie moved with her, using his broad frame to keep her back. “Teach me?”
He chortled, shaking his head. “I’m not going to tell you my secrets. You think I want to give your pirate mother free rein throughout the Long Sea?”
Corayne all but rolled her eyes. She pursed her lips, huffing. “You assume I’ll see her again, and if I do, I’ll tell her what you teach me.” Certainly not after she left me to rot in Lemarta.
“Bitterness is unbecoming, Corayne,” Charlie replied. “I should know,” he added with a wink.
“Well, Sorasa did turn you into live bait. It’s warranted.”
“On the long list of things I have to fret over, Sorasa Sarn dangling me in front of my own personal bounty hunter is not one of them,” he sighed, turning back around.
It was a tactic Corayne knew too well. Charlie was trying to hide the sadness welling in his eyes. Her natural curiosity flared, but her sense of propriety won out, and she let it be. She was no fool either. Charlie wore the look of heartbreak. Though Corayne had never felt it herself, she saw it in the sailors of Lemarta, and in their families left onshore. Charlie was the same, going distant in the quiet moments, his mind and his heart elsewhere.
Slowly, he slid the parchment away, leaving the work unfinished.
“Teach me how to cut a seal, then,” Corayne begged, weaving her fingers together in a mocking prayer. She didn’t bother batting her eyelashes, knowing full well Charlie had no interest in her—or any other woman, for that matter. “Just one.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. He was a man defeated, a castle overthrown. “Just one.”
She jumped with glee. “My choice?”
“You are a Spindlerotten little imp,” he snapped, poking her with the quill. Then he reached for his pack. “Yes, your choice.”
Delighted, her mind whirred with possibility. A Tyri seal would be most useful, but Ibalet is more valuable—
“Sail!” a voice shouted from above.
Charlie shaded his eyes, turning his face up to the mainmast, where the lookout kept watch. Corayne didn’t bother, more focused on the forger’s wares. It was not uncommon to spot other ships in the Long Sea. The Strait of the Ward was positively crawling with them. Her mother liked to joke they couldn’t raise an oar without striking another ship. And they were in Sarian’s Bay now, only a few days from the coast. Other ships would be common, heading for the port as they were.
The Ibalet sailors scuffled up and down the deck in a flurry of activity. There wasn’t much cargo to secure—Isadere’s galley was no trade ship—but they checked it over anyway, tightening ropes and rigging. They muttered to each other in hurried Ibalet, too fast for Corayne to catch.
But not for Sorasa Sarn.
“They don’t like the look of it,” she said, sidling up to Charlie’s workbench. She listened to the sailors and watched the horizon with a cruel, keen eye.
Corayne barely glanced at her. She weighed a set of seal dies in her hands, both wooden cylinders with silver ends. They were heavy, so well made she suspected they’d been stolen from a treasury. One held the emblem of Tyriot, the mermaid brandishing a sword, and the other was the Ibalet dragon. Her mouth watered at the prospect of either.
But Charlie plucked the seals from her grasp, stuffing them back into his pack. “Let’s put those away until we know we aren’t being boarded by pirates,” he said, offering a tight smile.
“Sarian’s Bay isn’t a hunting ground,” Corayne scoffed back. She knew better than anyone aboard where the pirates of the Long Sea stalked their prey. “No pirate with sense hunts in these waters. It’s just a passing trader.”
At the rail, Andry pointed to the horizon. A dark smudge bobbed in the wind, almost too small to make out.
“Purple sails. Siscaria,” he said, squinting into the distance. “They’re a long way from home.”
The waves rolled beneath the deck and Corayne’s stomach rolled with them. She raised her eyes to the horizon. Her heart leapt and sank in equal measure, as if torn in two.
“Where’s Dom?” she hissed, crossing to the rail.
“Sharing his lunch with the sharks,” Sorasa sneered, jabbing a thumb in his direction. The Elder hulked at the bow, head over the side. “I’ll get him.”
He’ll know. He’ll see what the ship is—and isn’t, Corayne thought, her lip caught in her teeth. She braced her ribs against the rail, leaning forward as if a few more inches might reveal the shape on the waves. Andry stood at her side, torn between watching the ship and watching her.
“Do you think—” he muttered, but Dom shouldered between them, his pale face whiter than usual. He swayed a little, unsteady, and Sorasa rolled her eyes behind his back.
The Elder gripped the rail, using it to straighten himself. “What are we looking at?”
Corayne only pointed, her finger finding the distant ship. “Describe it to me.”
He blew out a shaky breath and fixed his stare far out to sea, his emerald gaze sharper than anyone else’s.
“I see a galley,” he said, and Corayne clenched a fist. “Purple sails. Two masts, a lower deck. Many more oars than we have.”
Even though the ship was still too far off to see properly, the ship took form in Corayne’s mind, drawn together from too many memories to count.
