Spectyr

the morning and find yourself shackled in the bowels of a slave ship in the evening. Outlying islands were treated like farms by certain principalities.

Raed didn’t know what he could do to dampen that rage. With a gesture but not a touch, he indicated she should go forward to where the crew of the Dominion were flinging open the hatches.

The slaves clambered out, reeking of sweat, urine and terror, unable to even move to have their shackles struck loose. This was a small consignment on a ship designed to stick to the coast and bring slaves right into the Empire via the river systems. They must have spent weeks in a holding pen before being shipped out on this vessel.

Aachon strode up to his captain and looked down at the pitiful scene without uttering a word.

“With everything we suffer, why do they have to add to this?” Raed muttered. “How is it that I thought the geists were the worst affliction of the Empire?”

His first mate sighed. “It is not a perfect world, my Prince.”

Wiping her blade on a portion of fallen slaver’s coat, Tangyre joined them. Her expression was one of distaste. “I had forgotten that such filth had returned to Arkaym.”

It was not his friend’s fault, but Raed knew that in his father’s sphere of influence many things about those left behind had been forgotten. In the Coronet Isles it was easy to forget the world beyond their shores. “Unfortunately, I cannot fix the ills of the Empire, Tang.”

As they had planned, they shepherded the slaves—who flinched from even the kindest hand—over to the Dominion. Aachon stood on the gunwales and looked between the crew and those ten men chosen to remain with Raed.

The Young Pretender stepped closer to his friend. “You are to return these people to their homes and then take shelter in the islands off the Bay of Winds, Aachon. Plenty of places to hide there, just in case the Emperor decides to raise the price on my head. We will look for you there when we have Fraine safely back.”

“My Prince”—the first mate put up one final protest—“there is still time to reconsider this.”

Raed also felt the wrench, but this was the only sensible thing to do. “You swore to protect me, old friend, but you also have a duty to the crew. I will not sacrifice their lives for mine, and I cannot take all of them into Chioma. You’re the only one I would trust to keep the Dominion safe.”Dominiondiv width='1em'>Aachon sighed. They had argued long the previous day, and it had taken a direct order from Raed to finally get him to obey.

“Look”—the Young Pretender clapped Aachon on the shoulder—“Tang is here, and you have always been my friend, not my bodyguard—despite what my father said to you. You know we cannot abandon the crew out here.”

The first mate thought for a moment and finally gave a curt nod. “I only do this because Captain Greene is, like I, ordered to protect the royal bloodline.” He gave an elaborate Court bow. “Remember who you are, my Prince, and bring your sister and yourself back safe.”

With that, he stepped across to the Dominion, and in his great booming bass voice ordered the crew to cast off. He did not stand on the deck and watch the Sweet Moon fall away. Raed smiled. No, his friend would never do that.

So, taking a leaf from his book, the Young Pretender would not look after his ship like a love-struck fool, wondering if he’d ever see her again. He had plenty enough of that in his life.

Raed turned his mind away from his ship and toward Fraine. He took stock of those he had chosen in this mission; five of his most reliable fighters from the Dominion. They included Laython, the dour little quartermaster; Snook, the best navigator of river or sea; and Captain Tangyre Greene. These were three women he would stake his life on. It felt like he was always placing his life into the hands of women.

His thoughts were getting away on him again. Sorcha. He pushed that memory away as best he could—as he had for the last season.

Snook, the rail-thin navigator, took the wheel in her hands and looked straight at him. “Where to, Captain?”

It was said so lightly that they might have been going out for a Sunday stroll rather than proceeding into the heart of the Empire. It made Raed smile as he strode over to stand at her shoulder.

“Your best speed to Londis, Mistress Snook. We need to get our papers to travel farther upriver.”

“Your sister will be so proud,” Tangyre whispered into his ear.

“I hope she lives to tell me that,” Raed replied as the Sweet Moon swung to the south, into the night and toward the danger of Chioma.

SIX Watched Clocks

Everything was taking a damned long time. Sorcha stood in the shade of the portico, smoked her cigar and watched the baggage train being loaded with all the patience of a child waiting for a treat. So far, preparations had eaten up the entire morning, and the oxen had not even been secured. Her mood was not helped by Kolya’s presence. He was smart enough to stay out of her way on the far side of the courtyard, but his eyes never left her.

Despite the Council’s ruling, part of her was nervous he would jump aboard the dirigible at the last moment. She’d thought him so predictable when they were married, but everything was different now. His sudden streak of determination had her worried.

In her pocket, under the cover of her blue cloak where he could not see, her hand was clenched on the mysterious badge she had found on the dead body of Arch Abbot Hastler. On one side was embroidered a picture of a snake eating its own tail, but it had been image on the reverse that had caused her far more concern.

The shape of a circle of five stars impressed itself on her palm as her fist tightened. She had needed no research to tell her what it was. That symbol could still be found on pieces of the Abbey—those that were out of reach of the ancient vandals, that was. It was the sign of the Native Order, the one that had been obliterated long before her own had come over with the Emperor scant years before.

For three months Sorcha had kept the badge behind a loose brick in her chamber, but this morning she had fished it out. The spectyr had shown her a circle of stars, and she would have been a fool not to spot the connection.

“Still at it, are they?” Merrick, the master of silent arrivals, made her jump. He was chewing on a bit of white bread smeared with a great yellow gob of butter, while holding another in his left hand.

“Thought you were just going for a breath of air?” Sorcha slid her fist out of her pocket, ground out the stub of her cigar and calmed her thoughts as best she could. She was not yet prepared to share her concerns with him —not until they proved more solid.

Her partner shrugged. “I happened to pass by the Imperial kitchens—their food is so much better than even the Mother Abbey’s.” He held out a portion of the still-warm bread. “Tell me I am wrong.”

Taking his offering, Sorcha perched herself on the railing and bit into the bread. The food at the Abbey was perfectly fine, if plain—this was another matter. The taste of spices filled her mouth as the crisp crust broke into the soft fluffy center—it needed neither butter or cheese to make it delicious.

Her eyebrows shot up. “I can see why the aristocrats always have a difficulty with their girth.”

Merrick, who was more of a stickler for the politenesses of society, finished his mouthful before replying. “The spices are the baker experimenting—apparently they brought boxes and boxes of them.” He jerked his head to where the silk-clad Chiomese were adjusting packs on a line of donkeys. Then his eyes alighted on Kolya. “Quite persistent, isn’t he.”

It was not a question. Sorcha decided this particular bull needed his horns taken hold of. Kolya straightened as she came his way, a genuine smile on his face, and for an instant she actually caught a glimpse of the man she’d married. That only irritated her more. She had pleaded with him time after time to show her his feelings, let her in, but it was only once she had left him that he had done anything about it.

“Just come to see you off.” Kolya gave her a somewhat stilted bow.