Spectyr

It was incredibly awkward, and Sorcha’s irritation withered away. She’d spent so many years with this man, trusted her life to him, but now they were caught between intimacy and coldness. Yet she knew if she reached out, he would take it as good sign and expect something she could no longer give him. So she kept herself still. “You shouldn’t have,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “Really . . . you shouldn’t have.” He winced at the sadness in her face.

Kolya’s jaw clenched. “I still care, Sorcha.”

Sorcha bit back her reply that she did too. It would only hurt and confuse him, so she replied, “I am afraid that some things you can’t fix once the time has passed.” She folded her hands to stop them from doing anything that might be misconstrued. Instead she turned away and returned to Merrick.

tSo”—she leaned next to her partner and deliberately did not watch Kolya leave the courtyard—“educate me on this Kingdom of Chioma.”

He glanced at her but was wise enough not to ask about what had transpired. Besides, he was younger than she and enjoyed, perhaps a little too much, any chance to show his skills. Unlike Kolya, who had always talked down to her when imparting information, Merrick oozed almost puppylike enthusiasm. She knew which she preferred.

Pulling up a chair, he sat down and propped his feet on the low wall. “As a boy I read as much as I could about it—not that there was much to find. It is the only principality that has never been invaded and never had its Prince deposed.”

“Impressive.” Sorcha glanced over her shoulder with new appreciation. The Empire’s history was rife with conflict, invasions and atrocities. She knew of no Prince of Arkaym whose dominion went back more than a few generations. It was what made her own Emperor nervous of Raed and his distant father. One day, when Kaleva was more secure on his throne, she was sure that the Coronet Isles would no longer be far enough away to protect the Unsung. Even the Emperor was not immune to arranging accidents for his opponents.

“They also have kept hold of their state religion”—Merrick grinned—“so remember not to call the little gods that there. It could be . . . awkward.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes. As someone who had looked into the bleak face of the Otherside, she had no time for such foolishness. “It’s like that, is it? Very well, I will hold my tongue.”

The corner of Merrick’s mouth twitched, but he made no comment. “Actually, they are so firm in their beliefs that the Prince of Chioma had to give special dispensation for the Imperial Dirigible to even approach Orinthal.”

“What?”

Her partner flicked crumbs off his cloak and chuckled. “They don’t much hold with new inventions. In fact, they believe flying through the air an affront to their goddess Hatipai.”

“Sounds like a wonderful place.” Sorcha didn’t care if her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Merrick cleared his throat. “Perhaps not in all things. They still cling to very”—he stopped and pressed his lips together before going on‚—“regional ways. Only men are allowed to rule there—just as the place I was born.”

It was the first time he had ever spoken of his home, but he looked dreadfully uncomfortable about it, so Sorcha held back her sharp reply. The Emperor still had much work to do, and she was not so blind to think the world a perfect place. Slavery and ignorance, like stubborn weeds, still clung here and there.

“Yet it is the place we will find Raed,” she said finally.

Sorcha closed her eyes for a second and tried to gain control of her emotions. She and the Young Pretender had shared a passionate few days, but whatever else she might feel for him was unclear. The desperate loneliness she’d suffered in her marriage had left her uncertain of her own feelings for the first time. It almost made her afraid to see Raed again—and yet she was not about to let him go to his death.

Sorcha swallowed hard. “Is this a mistake, Merrick?”

He chose his words carefully. “Perhaps. But we owe Raed a great debt and a Bond.” His mind tugged on the connection lightly, sending a shiver down Sorcha’s back. “It is not something to be lightly cast asi.”

She’d had enough of that sort of talk from the Council, but if that was what he believed, and it would get them out of the city, she was willing to go along with it.

Beyond the portico the servants pulled the oxen into the traces, so Sorcha stood up, finally convinced that they might be moving soon.

“What is that?” Merrick leaned forward and yanked her sleeve back from her wrist. On her hand she had slipped the one other thing she kept hidden in the Abbey. It was Raed’s ring, embossed with the rampant Rossin of his house, the item he had given her before leaving Vermillion. It had felt right to put it on.

Sorcha jerked back, unable to find words that would not reveal how embarrassed she was. The damn Bond meant he probably knew anyway, but she was certainly not about to wrench it off her thumb. Instead she stared at him, until eventually it was he who flushed and looked away.

Luckily at that moment chaos broke out. “Wait! Wait! Don’t forget this!” A burly Imperial servant came racing out of the palace with a large painting tucked under one arm. It was of the Emperor himself, in full dress uniform.

Relieved at the distraction, Sorcha got up and helped the distraught servant find a place for the portrait on the last cart. It was so handsome that perhaps the Princess Ezefia would think it painted with too much appreciation for the Prince’s status. In fact, Sorcha knew it did not really capture her Emperor—his handsomeness yes, but not the charisma and charm he possessed as well.

Bandele, the ambassador from Chioma, finally appeared. He was hard to miss: over six feet tall and wrapped in orange and bright green silks that set his dark face in shocking contrast. When he smiled, which he did often, the flash of white teeth was broad and startling. Apparently the Princess Ezefia’s suit for the Emperor’s hand had gone very well, because her representative was in a fine mood. He nodded to the Deacons before taking his place at the head of the procession to the Imperial Dirigible Station.

Merrick and Sorcha were just behind him.

“All ready, then?” Bandele asked, as if it had been the sparsely equipped Deacons who had caused the delay.

Merrick stifled a grin while Sorcha was not nearly so amused. “For hours, actually,” she snapped.

It might as well have been water off a duck’s back. “Excellent—then let’s move out.” He waved his hand, and the gates were finally opened. The whole wagon train, including the dozen guards, wrapped far more somberly in dark silks, moved out.

Sorcha let out a long breath that felt like she had been holding it all day. Glancing to her right, she was slightly disturbed by Merrick’s broad grin—but then the younger Deacon had somehow managed to keep his boyish enthusiasm for most things.

If he stayed with her, Sorcha thought morosely, it would soon wear off.

Three days lingering in the port of Londis was driving Raed more than a little crazy.

Certainly the Saal River mouth was busy. The Sweet Moon was tied up among other ships, some fellow slavers, some carrying other cargo such as wheat, spice and oil. However, the delays in getting the proper forms from the Imperial Trade Office were ridiculous.

If the Sweet Moon had in fact been full of slaves, a goodly number of them would have died in the sweltering hold. Bureaucracas something none of his crew was used to dealing with, and Raed chafed under it.

So for the third day in a row, Raed and Tangyre stood on the bustling quayside in the Imperial port town of Londis and breathed in the real heat of the south.

“I had forgotten how wonderful it is here,” Tangyre said, flicking open a couple more buttons on her shirt.

“Watch yourself, Tang,” Raed laughed. “We need to keep the illusion of respectable slavers.”

If he did not think about his sister lost somewhere in the vast Empire, he might have enjoyed this. Since the confrontation under Vermillion, the Curse of his family, the geistlord Rossin had not stirred inside him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to live without fear of turning into the great cat and killing those he cared for.

As they strolled through the yelling, cursing traders and toward the Customhouse, Raed’s mind drifted much farther. The space on his finger where his signet ring had been was still pale, the skin there not yet as tanned as