The Shadow Soul (A Dance of Dragons) Page 11

  The anchored crossbows had done their job, securing the bond between the ships.

  Knowing what came next, Rhen raised his sword and yelled, a deep and throaty sound, rippling with the anger that boiled under his skin.

  Those Ourthuri wanted to hurt his people. And thinking of Jin, Rhen knew they had already succeeded. But they would not succeed again. Rhen had a nephew to protect, a new babe in the palace, a new future of the kingdom.

  He would not let his family or his people down.

  Without blinking, he charged, running to the edge of the ship and stomping over the wooden planks that had just been laid like bridges across the gap.

  Slicing his sword through the air, the crash of metal clanking metal reverberated from mast to mast.

  A man possessed, Rhen moved on pure instinct, lifting his shield to catch a blow from one soldier just to turn on his heal and cut another with his sword. Years of playing at battle had prepared him well, and the training from old knights resurfaced, letting his muscles move on pure memory.

  Silver danced across his vision—silver and red.

  Rhen pulled his sword from the chest of the man before him, blood spurting from the wound, already turning to face the next foe.

  Geoff stood behind him, engaged with a lesser swordsman. He would be fine.

  Spinning, Rhen searched through the curtain of moving arms and shields for anyone in need of help.

  There.

  Captain Pygott had abandoned ship, running across the boards to join in the fray, and had been caught against a man twice his size. Rhen charged, kicking the chest of a man who tried to face him, pushing him out of the way. He held his shield to the left, over his head, to guard against any flying daggers, and moved swiftly parrying enemy blades with his broadsword.

  In one move, he pushed the captain out of harm's way and swung his right arm high overhead, catching the Ourthuri's curved sword in its path. A deafening clang roared in his ear, his bicep straining against the strength of his foe, his elbow twisting painfully toward the ground.

  Rhen stepped back out of the way and dropped his shield, gripping the sword with both hands. He would need his full strength for this.

  The Ourthuri twisted the curved blade before his face, spinning it in a circle, trying to intimidate Rhen. But then his eyes flicked to the gold hilt of Rhen's sword, his lids lifting high up into his brow before narrowing to a slit.

  I guess he knows I'm a prince, Rhen thought. Gold encased swords were rare in both kingdoms. Ones decorated with precious stones? Even rarer.

  Good, Rhen thought, angling the sword just slightly so the reflection hit the other man's eye.

  And then he charged, aiming low and for the man's leg, an unexpected spot. But his opponent saw it coming, slapping Rhen's sword away, returning with a strike at Rhen's neck.

  Rhen dodged, jumping back and out of arm's length before surging forward once more. Up then down, circling left and swinging right. He feigned one way, moving his sword to the other.

  They were evenly matched.

  And Rhen's strength was running low.

  A whistle tickled his ear, and too late to do anything but duck, Rhen fell to the floor, smacking his nose against the wood. Blood pooled from the wound, forming a puddle on the boards below his face.

  He jumped up, preparing for a sword that never came. The Ourthuri stood before him, arrow lodged in his chest, looking just as surprised as Rhen before sinking to the ground.

  What the…?

  Rhen curved his neck, searching for the archer. No man from Whylkin would shoot so close to his prince, no one. But what Ourthuri would have taken the same chance?

  Not ten feet away, an Ourthuri stood, aiming an arrow into the fight. He let go. The bow whipped. The arrow soared.

  Rhen followed as it flew through the crowd and watched, disbelieving, as it landed squarely in the chest of another surprised Ourthuri warrior.

  Yet one more arrow raced through Rhen's vision.

  A third Ourthuri fell.

  "Keep one alive," Rhen screamed, suddenly understanding what was going on. Ordered suicide, the man had been ordered to do this, ordered to maintain secrecy at any cost. And there was only one person who could demand such a thing, one person who held so much authority—a king.

  A fourth arrow.

  And then Rhen was on the man, his sword slicing through soft flesh. The bow clanked to the ground, precious nerves in the man's wrist had been severed.

  But there was no scream.

  Instead, as Rhen took one small second to look at the man's already paling face, there was only a small smile, bubbling over with foam.

  The man fell next to his bow, body shaking wildly on the wood.

  Poison.

  The entire deck was still, silent except for the rivers of blood spilling and splashing into the ocean.

  The enemy had been destroyed.

  "Idiot," Rhen cursed softly. Leave one alive, always leave someone alive to question. "Search the ship," he said louder, a command.

  "In all of my years," Captain Pygott said softly, approaching Rhen with a grim expression, "I have never seen something like that. A fight to the last man, yes, but never such a surrender. There are stories, of course. But there are always stories. To witness such a thing in the flesh," he shook his head, "even I am left speechless." He paused, and then raised his hand to Rhen's shoulder. "What have you uncovered here?"

  "You mean what did I fail to uncover?" Rhen shrugged out of the captain's grip, balling his hands into fists, fighting the urge to punch at the floor.

  "Whylrhen—"

  "Prepare the ship, we continue on to the Golden Isles," Rhen interrupted, not meeting the concerned blue eyes that stared him down.

  Only when the captain left did Rhen move, running his vision over the bodies crumpled on the floor. He shuffled to the closest man, kneeling to get a look at his arm.

  Three ebony stripes were tattooed around his wrists and a triangle of dots decorated his hand.

  Rhen recognized the mark. A soldier.

  He flipped the fingers over, searching for another mark on the palm, something else to identify him, but there was nothing.

  Just a common soldier.

  Rhen walked around the other bodies, doing the same, but they were identical.

  Until he reached the archer, the body Rhen had saved for last. Each wrist wore the standard soldier marks, but when he flipped it over, the same dotted triangle had been painted on the inside of his palm.

  He was from the inner ranks, the warriors specially chosen to protect the king. But if he was meant to protect the Ourthuri king, what was he doing so far from home?

  "Prince Whylrhen," someone gasped from behind.

  Rhen stood, facing the voice. It was Geoff. And behind him, chained and shackled together, stood four very skinny Ourthuri. Rhen grinned, heart feeling light as excitement bubbled in his brain.

  Perhaps all hope wasn't lost. Not yet.

  "Help them aboard the Old Maid," Rhen ordered and moved to the makeshift bridge between the ships. "We'll question them from safer grounds."

  He crossed over, hearing the creak of straining wood.

  As soon as everyone had touched safely down on the clean, and now cluttered, deck of the Old Maid, the chains released from the crossbows below deck, detaching from the ship and dropping into the sea. Immediately, the other ship caught the tide, slipping slowly away.

  It was only a matter of time before it sank, but Rhen hoped to be miles closer to the Golden Isles before that happened. And much closer to answers too.

  If only he could get these prisoners to talk.

  He looked at the rusted chains around their hands, the red welts on their wrists, the bones pushing against thin skin.

  Treating them like anything but prisoners might just do the trick.

  "Do any of you understand what I am saying?" He asked, looking down at their wrists. All four were painted with three thick bands of simple black lines. Farmers, pea
sants, the lowest class. The Kingdom of Ourthuro was composed of a hundred islands, each with its own somewhat individualized language—that Rhen knew half of those tongues was something he preferred to keep secret for as long as possible. But as it was, only a member of the upper classes would understand his Whylkin speech.

  Movement brought Rhen back as one of the men stepped forward. He was tall and lean, shaped completely different from Rhen. His hair hung in straggles over his face, black and wiry, malnourished, and his eyes held the calculating tick of intelligence.

  "I understand," he said in a deep, cautious voice, accented harshly, choppy so two words came out sounding more like four. As he moved in front of his companions, Rhen saw burns on his hands, bumpy scars in place of tattoos, and it could only mean one thing—the man was a criminal, he had been degraded, his old marks burned away and replaced with those of an unmarked—a slave.

  Perfect, Rhen thought. Just the sort of man who might talk.

  "Why were you imprisoned on this ship?"

  "I tried to marry above my station," he said softly, shuffling his feet.

  "Your companions?"

  "They sold their labor in return for food for their families."

  "And what labor was that?" Rhen asked, leaning in closer, moving his hand subconsciously to the hilt of his sword. The man's gaze flicked down, but he returned Rhen's gaze, unafraid.

  "We were told very little, but I believe we were being taken to Whylkin to steal supplies—wood, livestock, food."

  Rhen leaned back, brows scrunched together as he ran a hand through his wild hair. "Why? The Golden Isles are richer than our lands have ever been."

  "Richer in metal, yes, but not in other things like fertile soil and hunting game."

  Rhen exhaled heavily—this was news to him.

  "With so much gold, why not buy it? Why risk so much for something you could purchase justly?"

  The man shrugged. "My king is a greedy man."

  "All kings are," Rhen said under his breath, wondering what his father would do with this information. Try to push trade prices up between the kingdoms, or try to weaken Ourthuro until they would pay anything for the supplies they needed. But could that really be it? Why the suicide? Why the poison? "Did you hear anything else? Any conversations between the men aboard?"

  He shook his head.

  Rhen sighed. It would not help to push these men, not yet at least. He could tell they were tired with their backs hunched in, swaying on feet that looked barely able to hold them upright.

  "Captain," Rhen said. Pygott turned to face his prince. "Please help get these men unchained and fed. Show them below deck and give them anything they require." Rhen raised his voice, to be heard by the rest of the ship. "These men are our guests, not our prisoners, and I expect no harm to come to them. We are giving them safe passage home."

  The crew nodded. The Ourthuri bowed in thanks, but Rhen couldn't help but see the fear in their eyes, fear that only sparked at the mention of their home.

  They were hiding something.

  And they're not the only ones, Rhen thought as Jin walked back into view, finally descended from his safe haven in the crow's nest. He stood apart from the crowd, behind the rest of the crew, staring in disbelief at his own hands.

  He looked up, meeting Rhen's gaze, and his arms instantly slackened, dead by his sides. Even from the distance, Rhen could see the challenge in Jin's eyes. A challenge he intended to take.

  But not yet.

  Everyone on the ship needed a moment to rest, a moment of peace.

  He looked to the horizon.

  One week left on the open ocean, one week left to Ourthuro.

  Plenty of time.

  He turned back to Jin and winked. The boy jerked and dashed to the bow of the ship, not once looking back.

  You can run, but you can't hide. Not on this ship.

  9

  JINJI

  ~ DUELING SEA ~

  Jinji's fingers buzzed, still alive with the spirits even though many days had passed since the fight. She had never woven an illusion so large, so intricate. Mirages of Janu had always come naturally. She pictured his face so often that it was imprinted on her brain, easily sprouting to life when called.

  But this had been something different.

  Something more powerful.

  She had created an illusion that could only be seen from one side. Jinji hadn't even been certain it had worked, not until the enemy arrows flew and landed uselessly to the right of the ship—dead center on the illusion of the Old Maid that she had woven. And still, she prayed in the back of her mind that no one in the crew realized what she was doing, that no one could see the false picture.

  The second her feet landed back on deck, Jinji had her answer. Rhen's eyes pierced hers, pricking her heart, and instantly she knew that he knew. There was enough curiosity, confusion, and determination in his gaze to put her at ease for a moment—he knew she had done something, but he had no idea what that something was.

  Whatever relief she felt disappeared quickly. Since that instant, Rhen had made it his personal mission to uncover all of her secrets.

  And the longer they remained on the ship, the more and more difficult it was becoming to evade him.

  But the outsiders, the men who had been stolen away from the other ship, had saved her—a miracle distraction keeping Rhen at bay. He coveted their answers even more than hers, and those answers were more urgent. They had a time limit—one that seemed fast approaching judging from the words of Captain Pygott.

  He expected to sight land early today, and to arrive in the Ourthuri capital tomorrow evening.

  One day, Jinji thought, one last day of living constantly on edge.

  She listened, waiting for the sound of a snore that did not come, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before taking a deep breath and relaxing them.

  Keep closed, she ordered.

  Try not to move.

  And then she felt his gaze land on her, scanning her face. A shadow penetrated her lashes, hot breath kissed her cheek, and a tingle shivered up her neck.

  "Jin," Rhen whispered.

  She ignored him, counting to ten in her head.

  "Jin, are you awake?"

  He poked her shoulder gently. Jinji moved, rolling over, groaning in protest as though still caught in a dream.

  A loud, frustrated sigh flowed into her ears.

  "I'll get to you later," he said gruffly, and then Jinji heard bootsteps on wood, the creak of a door. She counted to fifteen, knowing Rhen could not remain quiet for such a lengthy stretch of time.

  Still silence.

  Jinji stretched her arms overhead, sitting up slowly in the hammock and opening her eyes, wincing at the bright sun filtering through the window. Another cloudless day. Another unbroken stretch of blue.

  The novelty of the sea had most definitely worn off.

  Jinji needed the forest.

  She yearned for it.

  She looked down at her hands, almost surprised to see them look just as normal as ever. Her skin its usual brown, but underneath it, the spirits were dancing, tingling, urging her to weave more, to keep building her power.

  Curious, Jinji closed her eyes, picturing trees and grass, sunlight filtering through leaves, the gentle patter of a stream, and the flutter of a butterfly hovering over the bright red of a flower.

  Her eyes widened instantly, and she stepped down off the hammock into her forest. The clearing, almost the same as she remembered it, minus the laughing face of Leoa. She walked forward, just a few steps, and there was the patch of yellow, perfectly shaped for her body, the spot where she had sat for hours and hours just to think, just to be. Jinji sunk to the floor slowly, waiting for the comforting cushion of her home, her sacred place, but the ground below her butt was still hard wood. Unyielding. Unnatural. Not the soft patch of dirt she wished it was.

  The illusion fell, shattered, taking Jinji's mood with it.

  Time to face the day, she sighed.

/>   By the corner, under her hammock, were the fresh clothes Rhen had promised the night before. Newworlder clothes. Her first.

  Yesterday, pestered by the stink of Janu's skins, skins that were never meant for the sea, Jinji asked for something new to wear. But now, faced with the reality, she didn’t feel ready. Not ready to remove that last tie to her home. But what had once been soft, comfortable fur was now harsh and scratchy, itching her skin, causing a rash.

  Biting her lip, Jinji pulled Janu's shirt overhead, holding it before her.

  Eyes watering, she removed the pelts around her legs and balled them all into one lump, stuffing it under the hammock.

  Naked was not enough to describe how she felt, shivering there, staring at the bleached out skins. Exposed. Alone. Abandoned. Judged.

  What would her mother say if she saw her only daughter dressed like one of them? What would her father do if he knew she had killed like one of them? What would Maniuk think if he realized she was sharing this room with one of them? Would Leoa still laugh with her, brush her hair, or would she look from a distance with scorn?

  Jinji couldn’t breathe.

  Her throat closed in, held by invisible hands, the very spirits of her tribe calling her to join them, to be at her rightful spot.

  Better dead than unrecognizable.

  Diving forward, Jinji cried out, gripping the skins in her hands. Stumbling backward, she reached for the clasp on the window and tossed Janu's clothes outside.

  Her neck loosened. She gulped in one strained breath.

  Then panic.

  Shoving her head out of the hole, she searched for the skins, finding them just in time to watch them sink below the surface—gone.

  Her hands shook.

  Her lip quivered.

  She took a deep, uneven breath.

  Then another.

  One more.

  Her mother, her father, Maniuk, Leoa, even Janu—they could say nothing. They were gone. They had left her alone.

  Her mind settled, her heartbeat slowed, her thoughts cleared.

  They loved her—they would not have judged what it took for her to survive.

  Turning slowly, Jinji unfolded the clothes Rhen had left. The pants, a deep soft black leather, slipped easily over her legs, loose and clearly meant for a larger person. But better that than have them stick to her thighs or her bottom, round like a woman and not flat like a man.