James West - Queen of the North

“Ostre’s a good captain,” Nesaea said, “but that’s the least of my concerns.”

Rathe frowned out across the river. Patchy fog had begun rising off the sluggish waters, adding to the gloom. He guessed if a man fell into the Sedge or the White Sea, he would freeze to death before having a chance to drown. He pushed aside thoughts of drowning and freezing.

“If the voyage isn’t troubling you, then what?”

“My sister,” Nesaea said softly.

“We’ll find her.” Rathe hoped he could keep the promise. Other than the girl being held captive to ensure her and Nesaea’s father returned to Dionis Keep-something impossible for Sytheus Vonterel to do, as the man was dead-they knew nothing about her. Not her age, not her name, and nothing of her appearance. “Not to sound a lecher, but if she’s even half as pretty as you, Lord Arthard may keep her for himself.”

Nesaea shook her head. “The comelier and younger this girl is, the more gold Arthard will see when he looks at her. I expect he’ll sell her on the blocks of Giliron-if so, hers will be a life of pampered misery.”

“Even the Isles of Giliron must have laws against taking a girl-child as a wife.”

“Where there are laws, there are lawbreakers,” Nesaea said, her voice edged with a grim familiarity that made Rathe’s stomach clench. He wanted her to unburden herself of those bitter experiences, but he would wait for her to tell him in her own time.

“We will find her,” he said again, but could not bring himself to promise that nothing terrible would befall the girl.

Nesaea squeezed his hand, but before she could say anything, Loro and Fira joined them at the rail. Rathe and Nesaea might not have been there, for all the notice the pair gave them.

“Don’t be a fool,” Fira snapped. In the misty half-light, the sickly greenish cast to her cheeks had become alarming.

“I’ve seen it plain on his face,” Loro growled. “And I tell you now, if that great Prythian dolt keeps ogling you, I’ll have off his head and toss it to the fish.”

Fira rolled her eyes, then abruptly closed them, gloved hands clutching the rail. “That would solve everything, wouldn’t it?”

Loro grinned darkly. “It’d make me feel better.”

“And afterward,” Fira said tightly, “what do you think Captain Ostre and his crew would do to you?”

“If they’ve any sense, they’ll keep their festering gobs shut, and their hands away from their daggers.”

“Liamas is a hero to these men, you blithering fool.”

“ Hero? That lumbering oaf? Bah!”

“If you’d seen him against the crew of the Crimson Gull , you’d not be so quick to pick a fight with him.”

Now Loro rolled his eyes. “How dangerous could these pirates you faced be to have named their ship after a damned seabird?”

“Oh!” Fira snarled, green eyes flaring open. “You’re the biggest fool of a man I’ve ever known-and I’ve known more than my fair share!” With that, she stormed off, heels clumpy against the snowy deck like padded mallets.

Loro looked after her, mouth agape. “ Your fair share! What’s that supposed to mean?” She made a rude gesture without turning, and Loro hurried after her.

Nesaea shook her head. “You’d never guess they’re in love.”

“They’ve a strange way of showing it,” Rathe chuckled, thinking of his and Loro’s earlier conversation. It made him wonder if Loro had actually wanted to be talked out of abandoning the women.

When Rathe turned back, Nesaea was looking at him, her eyes wide and beautiful in the murk, her lips parted slightly. He had seen that look before, and knew what she wanted him to say, but he did not dare. The words she sought would only serve as an invitation to the Khenasith to do each of them harm.

Rathe pressed his lips together and leaned against the rail. Nesaea’s expectant look melted smoothly into an expression of mild indifference, as if she had not wanted to hear anything from him. That made him feel worse, but he kept his silence.

It was a relief when Captain Ostre ordered the crew to unfurl the crisp new mainsail, man the push poles, and cast off the mooring lines. A few moments more, and the Lamprey was gliding into the main current of the River Sedge, and picking up speed.

Loro gulped a breath and made a hasty retreat from the cabin he shared with Fira. Inside, the fire-haired woman rocked forward on her knees and retched violently into a bucket. She had been doing little else since they sailed from Iceford some days before. Kneeling beside her, Nesaea murmured soothing words and held back Fira’s hair.

“I expect you have this in hand,” Rathe said in a tight voice. When Nesaea nodded, he fled without the barest measure of guilt.

Loro had ventured far down the passageway, and stood at the stairs leading topside. “Think she’s been poisoned?” he asked, when Rathe drew near.

“It’s the motion of the ship, not poison.” He had heard of such illness afflicting some folk. So far, it hadn’t troubled him.

“ Smells like she’s been drinking poison,” Loro said, nose wrinkling.

Rathe could not disagree.

Up on deck, the sun peeked through broken clouds, but the air had grown colder than ever. Rathe pulled his coat tighter, but it did him no good. His cloak was in his cabin, and there it would stay. Cold was better than suffering the rank odors below deck.

Ostre clumped near. “How’s Fira?” Loro made a face, and the captain nodded. “Expected as much. Last time she was aboard, she spewed for half the voyage. I’d guess that’s why she fought so hard against the corsairs on the Crimson Gull -a bit of swordplay tends to take your mind off a sour belly. She ought to get used to sailing quicker, this time.”

“Is there nothing you can give her?” Loro asked.

Ostre shrugged helplessly. “I’ve seen folk take all manner of remedies for such, but I’ve never seen a one of them work as promised.”

Liamas’s deep voice rose behind them. “I can help.”

“I expect you’d offer all sorts of help ,” Loro bristled, looking the giant Prythian up and down.

Liamas ignored him. “After learning the lass was to sail with us again, I spoke with a woman in Iceford.”

“Mother Roween?” Ostre asked.

“Aye.”

“Who is this wench?” Loro asked suspiciously.

Ostre answered. “In these parts, she’s counted as a healer. South of the Gyntors, folk would name her a hedge witch.”

“We’ve had enough dealings with witches of any sort,” Loro snapped.

Rathe raised a hand for calm. “I doubt this Mother Roween is anything like Yiri.”

“A witch is a witch,” Loro said. “They offer you a cure with one hand, while the other steals close to take her price.”

Liamas went on as if Loro hadn’t protested. “Mother Roween gave me a tonic for curing the sickness that afflicts women with child.”

“Fira’s not with child,” Loro said. “Unless you’ve dreamed up a plan to change that?” Since setting sail, he had gotten more suspicious of the quartermaster. Fira’s praise of Liamas only made matters worse.

When the Prythian’s fists knotted, Rathe casually inserted himself between the two men. “Any help you can offer is welcome.”

With his icy-blue gaze locked on Loro’s face, the Prythian seemed not to hear, and one hand began caressing the head of the short-handled battleax hanging from his belt.

Ostre cleared his throat. “Go spill some of that brew down the girl’s throat. I don’t want my ship stinking any worse than it already does.”

With a last glare for Loro, Liamas turned on his heel and stalked away.