Princess at Sea (34 page)

Jeck met my gaze across the fire, his angry expression that I might have lied to him easing. “You'd leave Kavenlow for Duncan?” he questioned. “You'd abandon the game and never tell Kavenlow why?”

Depressed, I reached for a stick and pushed on a burning chunk of wood. Sniffing loudly, I wiped my cold nose, feeling my back go cold. I didn't care anymore if he saw me cry, but there was nothing left. Slowly I nodded.

“I won't tell him providing you leave,” he said. “But if you take too long, or I think you're going to hurt my game, I'll tell him sooner.”

My eyes flicked to his. It was the most I'd get from him. “Thank you,” I said, not understanding his change of heart. Perhaps there was a thread of humanity in him after all.

Jeck settled himself deeper onto the earth, looking as cold and uncomfortable as I was. It was a new look for him, and I wondered why he had dropped his stiff persona of stoic endurance. It made him look almost human. “I'm thinking we will find the capital tomorrow evening,” he said, turning to a more benign topic. My eyes followed his to my water flask, and I took a swallow of it, trying to drain enough of it so I could give the rest to him and call our bargaining done. It was still tepid from lying next to me all day, and tasted flat.

“Late morning,” I said softly as I wiped my fingers dry, dismayed when I made a clean spot and realized how dirty I was.

His eyebrows arched in disbelief, making deep shadows on his firelit face. “How would you know?” His eyes lingered on the flask. “You were out of your mind the entire night.”

I pulled my cloak tighter, tired. Was he trying to irritate me so I'd give him the water just to get him to be quiet? It was working. “We could have rafted right into the capital,” I said. “Why did you keep forcing me to angle south?”

“I didn't know the size of your storm,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Can you imagine the damage you would have done to the ships at anchor and the dockside buildings had you blown in like that? Besides, if the pirates were ahead of us, it would have done them just as much good as us. This way, we have a chance to get there before them, not after.”

We?
I thought, deciding not to point his word choice out. But he was right. I would have destroyed everything three streets up from the docks. A day out was an acceptable compromise. I moved my shoulder experimentally, feeling it shift without pain.

“Early morning?” he questioned.

I nodded, hesitated, closed my eyes, breathed deeply. I had made out the better of this deal. “I can smell the filth in the streets,” I said, my eyes flashing open at his snort of disbelief.

“I can't,” he scoffed.

“You don't have the wind whispering in your ear, either.” I was done with him. The wind was gone from my head, banished by his voice. I had wormed a promise from him that he would not tell Kavenlow how I got it there to begin with. Picking up the water flask, I jiggled it to get his attention, then tossed it across the fire to him. It was awkward since I used my left hand instead of my right, but he caught it.

Not even taking a sip, he lay down right where he was and tugged the canvas cloth tighter about him. His chin tucked to his chest, he pretended to fall asleep. I waited until his breathing grew deep and slow before I quietly found my own rest, shivering and cold beside the fire. I found myself thinking that if Jy were here instead of Jeck, I could snuggle up to my horse and at least be warm. Horses were better than men—for lots of reasons.

They at least listened when you talked, I mused as I watched Jeck pretend to be asleep. They took direction easily. They could carry lots of stuff and never complained about it. You always knew what they were thinking just by looking at them. They smelled good even when they were dirty, and when you were done riding them, all you had to do was give them a good brush and a dinner of oats, and they figured they got the better end of the deal. They were big and strong, and you could curl up against their warmth without them thinking you wanted more.
Horses,
I thought, shivering as I drifted into sleep,
are definitely better than men.
Why couldn't Jeck be more like a horse?

I woke only once, the remembered nightmare of being alone and betrayed jerking me awake. I started upright, my cloak clutched about me and the steam of my breath showing in the faint coals that remained of the fire. Heart pounding, I took in the moon hanging over the opposite horizon. Embarrassment filled me. It had been my own voice that had woken me: a harsh croak of a cry that seemed to still echo in the utter silence of the spring woods at night. Not even the wind dared break it.

Breath fast, I looked across the ash-dusted coals to Jeck. His dark eyes met mine as he lay on the ground under his ragged sailcloth, his gaze questioning. Clearly I had woken him. Not getting up, he stretched to reach what was left of the wood and toss it on the fire. Sparks flew up like memories, to die in the blackness of time. A small flame licked the new branch, and it began to burn.

Feeling cold and achy, I lay back down and closed my eyes, praying the dream wouldn't return. The feeling of loss still haunted me. It wasn't the loss of the wind, already grown familiar like an old pain. It was a new loss, still as sharp and bright as new metal. A loss of the heart, and it shocked me in its depth.

Duncan
, I thought. Perhaps I should leave everything. Run away with Duncan and become a wandering vagrant. But even as I thought it, the feeling of loss swelled deeper. It seemed the demise of the game meant more.

“Jeck?” I opened my eyes to find him still watching me. “How close is my shoulder to the punta vision? Now that you healed it again?”

His jaw clenched, then released. “Two days. Are you okay?”

I nodded, not wanting to go into the details of why I had woken. Two days. Had I changed the future, or followed it? Tugging my cloak closer, I decided it didn't matter. My thoughts full and confusing, I fell back asleep. I woke later from the cold to find the sun up, the fire out, and Jeck gone. My knife had gone with him, but I was too weary even to curse him.

Horses didn't steal your stuff when they ran away.

It didn't take me long to start out after Jeck. I had nothing to
pack and was wearing everything I owned. The fire was out, and the biscuit I had saved from last night took all of a moment to choke down. My feet were cold and clammy in my gifted boots, and I thanked Penelope again for her selfless generosity. Thoughts on warm baths, hot fires, and how good it would feel to sign Jeck's execution papers, I pushed myself into motion.

“He stole my knife,” I muttered, ignoring the whisper of wind calling to me from the tops of the trees. “He stole my knife right off me and left without waking me.”

It didn't matter that I'd been pushed to my physical limits and had been sleeping the sleep of the dead. It didn't matter that he was a master player and had probably used his skills to keep me sleeping while he cut the knife from the ribbon about my waist. It infuriated me that his offer to heal my shoulder had probably only been to help ensure that I had a peaceful night sleep that I wouldn't want to wake from. He had taken my knife and left me behind.

Duncan had stolen from me before, but it had always been in fun, and he always gave whatever it was back, usually before I knew it was missing.
But Jeck . . .
I thought as my steps grew fierce and jarred me from my heels to my skull. Jeck had taken it in malice. To prove he could. To make me do without. And he had left me behind again. Intentionally.

The wind soughed louder, inciting the power behind my ears to a simmering chatter. First the wind came in the trees, then the voice in my head answered gleefully until they were singing an insane, distracting duet. The spirit trapped within me had ceased asking for freedom, instead now babbling with an irritating anticipation like a child eager for a favorite sweet.

I closed my eyes, then opened them when my balance left me and I stumbled. Pain jolted through me when I took a huge step to catch myself. I gritted my teeth and cursed Jeck as if it had been his fault. But if I were honest with myself, I would admit it wasn't the knife that bothered me. It was that he might get to Kavenlow before I could, deciding it would further his game to tell my teacher what had happened.

Horses are better than men,
I thought as I stomped after him. You could tell them your most fearful secrets, and the worst they would do was snuff in your ear, not run away and tell your master. If Kavenlow found out, he would have no choice but to sever our teacher/student arrangement. I'd have to leave the game, shamed and lacking instead of lying that I chose to leave with Duncan and just . . . walking away.

Heartache came from nowhere, closely followed by panic when I stumbled into a faster pace. I couldn't leave the game. It was all I lived for. Duncan had made it very plain he would welcome me into his life, but to leave Kavenlow voluntarily was too painful to consider, even now when the game was falling apart around me. It was what my path had been bent to even before I had known of it, born with a natural resistance to the venom and trained from adolescence to use it. I wanted to be a player, even if it meant my death. I wanted a life with love as well, but to get it only because the first was out of reach seemed like a small consolation. I wanted both. I wanted both, curse me to hell and back.

The wind bubbled and simmered in my head, inciting the wind in the trees to swell.
I want to be a player,
I thought, the frustration rising in me.
I want to be loved.
And it looked like I was going to have neither since Duncan was with the pirates, having only his wits to keep his soul and body together.

Head down, I pushed after Jeck, clutching my cloak closed about my neck with my good left hand as the wind sang to me. Worry and anger made my blood pound in my ears. My skin tingled, and my shoulder ached when the wind in the trees called to the wind in my head.

I had promised Kavenlow I would hold to his insistence of no ties that could not be broken easily, and though I had tried, I had failed with Duncan.
And see what happened?
I thought bitterly as I slogged down the path. Jeck was right. Love made you weak.

The wind whipped my filthy dress. The red ribbon that hung empty from my waist flung upward to slap my face. I stomped forward, the hurt rising through my body. “And he took my knife!” I muttered harshly, wanting to shove it deep into him.

A sudden gust mirrored my emotions, punching down through the trees. It hit me hard enough to send me stumbling back, eyes wide. The branches and leaves whipped upward to fly against my face. The howl swirling about me rose to a scream.

Staggering, I fell to my knees. Frightened, I cowered, hunching into myself and covering my head when torn leaves beat at me and the sky howled. From inside me, the tingle of venom surged, unrecognized until now. My lips parted when I realized the wind was coming from me. My faster pulse and anger had pulled venom from my poison-soaked tissues, and the wind in my head had used it to strengthen itself without me even knowing.

Cold struck through me and I hunched into myself against the power that still whipped at the trees. I had gotten angry, and the zephyr in my head had drawn the skies to fall upon me. Jeck was right. I was a danger to everyone.

Dirt and bits of bark made pinpricks when I pulled my head up. I squinted at the wildly tossing branches.
Silence!
I demanded, my heart pounding when the wind in my head bubbled and chattered in glee, glad to have found a playmate.
You will be still!

It didn't hear, intent on calling down another gust of wind. My breath was pulled from me as an incoming blast hit the ground and ricocheted down the path. I cowered, ducking my head. Fear rode high, and I forced my lungs to work.
You will be still!
I demanded again, stronger this time as I wrapped my will about the hot ember of dark merriment inside me that willfully ignored me.

Feeling my bonds fall upon it again, it reared in an affronted passion, tugging once in complaint before it fell back to a soft, anticipatory, sullen grumble. The wind beating upon my shoulders gave one last push and died. A final soughing in the leaves, and all was still. The tingle of venom was a pulse of hurt in my shoulder and leg, vanishing to a dull ache.

I was left kneeling on the path with my arms wrapped about me and my heart pounding.
It almost took me over,
I thought, afraid to get up. I wasn't safe anymore, for me or anyone else. I had gotten angry and nearly let the wind take control.

Stomach churning, I slowly unkinked the grip I had on myself. My head hurt, and I could feel the palm of my right hand tingling.

I took a slow breath, eying the trees shifting in a natural breeze, the morning sun bright on the spring green leaves.
Never again,
I vowed. I couldn't slip again, or Kavenlow would realize how dangerous I was. I had to be very, very calm. I had to be very proper. I had to be silent and demure. I'd never make it.