Oathen (36 page)

When she left, Rhona collapsed on the bed and
curled up in a fetal position. “Kill me now,” she begged. “I swear,
if we have to ride all day tomorrow as well, my legs are going to
rot off!”

Salvor chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll strap them
on behind your saddle.”

“You’re a cruel taskmaster.”

“Nonsense. I just know the value of letting a
horse do the dirtwalking for me.”

A knock came at the door, and Kimmsin and
Albrel lugged in the circular copper tub. Salvor sat on the bed,
out of their way, and took off one of Rhona’s boots. He began to
massage her foot, working his way up to her calf muscle as the
servants began toting hot water from the kitchen and pouring it
into the tub.

“I take it back,” Rhona murmured, her voice
rich with enjoyment. “You’re a god.”

“Careful, now,” he admonished, tugging off her
other boot. “Vintens don’t believe in gods. Although, now that I
think of it, most of the ones our neighbors subscribe to do have
admirable qualities. So keep talking, wench.”

Rhona laughed into the pillow.

After Kimmsin dumped the last bucketful into
the tub and left, Immi paused at their doorway. “Let me know when
you’re ready to stay in for the night. I’ll ward the door,” she
murmured.

“My thanks,” Salvor replied.

Immi shut the door behind her, and Rhona
breathed deeply of the scented water. “Is that lavender?” she
asked, approaching the tub and leaning over it. “Marvelous. I’m
going to fall asleep in there and drown.”

Salvor smiled. “I’ll go down and eat while you
bathe, and I’ll bring you up some supper, if you haven’t fallen
asleep by then. And drowned. Then I’d have to eat it myself and
dispose of your body.”

“If you do, I’ll haunt you.”

“No you won’t. Vintens don’t believe in haunts
either.”

He left, closing the door on her chuckles, and
let Immi dish him up a platter of food that weighed more than his
sword. He took his time eating in the dining area, savoring every
bite, and complimented Immi on her exquisite cooking before asking
her to make up a platter for Rhona. She came back from the kitchen
and handed it over, blushing under his praise.

He saw that she’d slipped a pair of chocolate
tarts on the platter as well. When he met her eyes with a frown of
confusion, she winked at him. “That’s a fine-spirited wife you’ve
got with you, sir. Keeping her happy is the best way to keep
yourself happy, if you follow me.”

Salvor tried his best not to smile as he
replied, “You’re a wise woman, Immi.” He told her they’d be turning
in for the night as soon as he got upstairs. She said she’d have
the servants pick up the tub in the morning.

Bracing the platter of savory food against his
chest, Salvor used his free hand to open the door, expecting Rhona
to be sound asleep in bed.

She wasn’t.

Curly hair wetted into mere waves of dark red
and bright copper, Rhona sat up in the tub and looked over her
shoulder at him in surprise, a sea sponge in one hand. The lamp in
the room tinted her skin a creamy hue.

Salvor had never seen the cordage braids at
her temples undone; the bright masses of copper hair surrounding
her face gave her an innocent look he’d more readily associate with
Sanych than with the woman who had tried for an entire season to
manipulate Geret into bedding her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I assumed you’d be done
by now.”

“It took longer than I thought,” Rhona
replied, looking down into her tub, “to get all the blood off. The
dairy didn’t have soap; I’ve been sticky all day. It was even in my
braids,” she said, sliding her finger and thumb along her coppery
hair.

“I hope you washed your appetite,” he said,
stepping inside and shutting the door with a foot. When it was
latched, he said in a low voice, “Husbands don’t wait in the
hall.”

“They do if I tell them to,” she replied
archly, then added, “But only at sea. Here, we don’t want to stand
out.”

Moments later, Immi’s voice carried faintly
through the door, wishing them a good night. They saw a faint blue
glow shoot around the door’s frame, along the floorboards, and
around the window frame on the opposite wall, warding them safely
for the night.

Salvor set the platter of food on a narrow
table.

“Gods’ folly, is that all for me?” Rhona
blurted, seeing the amount of food that Immi had piled on the
platter.

“It is,” Salvor said with a smile, picking up
a chocolate tart. He walked to the tub, letting his eyes trail
across her, though her knees were drawn nearly to her chest in the
round copper tub. He sat on the floor beside her and held out the
tart for her to bite. “Compliments of the house,” he murmured, as
she sank her teeth into the rich dessert.

“Oh my,” she said, running her tongue over her
lips to catch every crumb. “That’s divine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, thumbing the pattern of
leaves beaten into the curled rim of the metal tub. “About Nohm.
Yesterday. If there were anything I could’ve done…”

“He was my guide when we escaped from the
farmhouse. He told me funny stories to distract me; it reminded me
of Ruel.”

“Tomorrow we’ll catch up with your cousin and
everyone else. Meena has a plan, and if anyone knows what they’re
doing, it’s her. Tomorrow, everything will be better.”

Rhona bit her lip, her eyes never leaving his.
“I don’t want to wait for tomorrow. You know pirates: so
impatient.”

Salvor heard the break in her voice, though
she tried to hide it. He leaned closer to her, feeling the heat
rising from the water brush his throat. “Tonight it is, then. How
can I help?”

She looked into his eyes for a long moment,
then handed him her sea sponge and turned her back to him, the
water sloshing as she tucked her feet under her bottom.

In a quiet voice, she asked, “Can you wash my
back?”

Salvor set the rest of the tart back on the
platter, then dipped the sponge in the warm water and squeezed it
out slowly along the back of her shoulders. His gaze tracked the
water trails as they ribboned from the tips of her dark red curls
and ran over the smooth musculature of her back.

“Rhona, it would be my pleasure.”

By the time Rhona ate, her food had long since
gone cold.

Geret stood at the edge of the river canyon and looked down at
the distant green waters of the Emerald. The wind at this height
was vicious, and he braced his boot against a rock for support
against its gusts. Curzon’s side of the cliff fell away to his
right; at its foot sat the small village, Shadewater, surrounded by
dozens of Scions from various cells. Behind him, among the trees
across the clearing, sat the upper Scion camp; neither camp had its
full range of protective spells in place yet. To his left, the
canyon twisted westward through the ancient caldera rim, its edges
lined with stunning basalt hoodoos and thick fir forests that ended
abruptly at the canyon walls. Ahm said that the Emerald had several
spectacular waterfalls in this area, and Geret hoped he got a
chance to see one. He could hear the faint roar of the closest one,
and was tempted to go look for it, but he decided he had bent the
rules enough for one day.

He wasn’t supposed to leave the protected area
of the camp. But Geret felt the need for the pure, wild emptiness
of nature. Not a complete fool, he took his sword and kept his hand
on its hilt at all times.

What a relief to have solid ground under my
boots
, Geret thought, grinding his foot on the rock.
Not
least because Meena’s in control again, and not Rhona
. He
shivered, though not from the cold wind, and his thoughts shied
away from the pirate. He’d remembered no more from his last night
aboard her ship; not being sure whether to hate himself or Rhona
was getting tiresome.

Sanych can do magic now
, he mused, his
eyes playing over the wide, shadowed canyon below.
Maybe she’ll
want to stay here in Shanal. I bet Meena would stay with her
.
He frowned, uncomfortable with that line of thinking too. He was
here to save Addan from the cult’s spell, and hoped to return to
Vint to find his cousin perfectly well. Until he’d seen Sanych
wielding the power of light with her bare hands, he’d simply
assumed she’d return home with him and the others.
But now
,
he thought, chewing the inside of his lip,
now she’s different.
Special. She belongs here, with others that have gifts like
hers.

“Geret,” Ruel called, coming up behind
him.

“Morning, Ruel. Have Salvor and Rhona arrived
yet?”

“No. I’m worried. The destruct spell might
have caught them.” His stormy blue eyes looked out toward the sea,
a distant blue line on the horizon.

“Salvor’s been my bodyguard since the first
day out of Highnave,” Geret said. “He’s managed to keep me alive,
despite my best efforts. I’m sure he got Rhona out
safely.”

Ruel nodded. “Meena sent me with a message.
She wants you to tell Curzon to step it up. We’ve caught a Dzur
i’Oth spy, and the cult may know where we are.”

Geret’s eyes widened. “Here in the
camp?”

The pirate shot him a flat look. “And try not
to bed her while you’re there. It might interrupt her
studies.”

“What?” Geret blurted in shock. “I’m not
going—”

Ruel crossed his arms. “I see the cut of your
jib,
princeling
. You and Sanych and your secret book
messages. Why else would you put Rhona off until she got desperate
enough to drug you?”

Geret’s brows lowered. “The green
drink.”

“The sacred spirit loosens the mind’s hold on
reality, so that one may commune with the divine. She was after
something a little less elevated with you. But too much makes you
forget, and Rhona wasn’t spouting details in the morning. I’ll
wager you can’t remember much either from that night, can
you?”

Geret numbly shook his head.

Ruel quirked his lips to the side. “You hold
off bedding Rhona, yet you pretend to love her all the way across
the Empty Ocean. Meanwhile, you’ve got yourself a pretty blonde
wench on the side, just waiting for you to look her way. That’s how
Salvor described her to me, back in Fernwall. It doesn’t look like
much has changed, except the fool who’s trimming her sails.” Ruel
turned to leave. “And you dirtwalkers call us barbaric.”

Gritting his teeth, Geret stalked toward
Curzon’s ladder, Ruel’s words echoing in his mind.
Now I’m even
more glad I dumped her swag in the river!

At the ladder’s bottom rung, he stepped onto
the tiny ledge and pounded on Curzon’s thick door.
This place
really needs a porch.

The door opened. Sanych looked out at him with
a cool expression.

“I—” he began, and then caught sight of the
ball of white light that she held in her other hand.

“You what?”

He swallowed, unable to look away from her
blazing magic. “I have a message for Curzon.”

She pushed on the door, letting it swing wide.
“Come deliver it, then,” she said, turning away in
dismissal.

Folly. She hates me.

Geret entered the small, warm cave and stopped
short at the odd sight that met his eyes. Numerous small objects
hovered in midair. Some were moving, others were stationary, and a
few tumbled in place. Curzon sat on the floor, waggling his finger
at this one or that one, making them spin or shift. At the sight of
Geret, he grinned happily.

“Ah, an audience!” said the hermit. “What
brings you down to us this time, my boy?”

Geret explained that Dzur i’Oth had likely
located the Scion camps, and that Meena asked Curzon to hurry.
Sanych sat down behind him.

When the prince had finished speaking, Curzon
merely gave him a barmy grin. “Hurry? Hurry? This wondrous girl has
learned more in two days than many Scions learn in a month! By the
green dragon’s horns, she’s a natural!” He winked at
Sanych.

“But, doesn’t it take a long time to master
magic?” Geret asked. It always did in the stories. Surely they
couldn’t have practiced everything already! The things he’d seen
the Scions do looked terribly difficult.

Curzon burst out laughing, and Sanych
snorted.

“My dear,” the old spellcaster said to his
protégé, “perhaps you might demonstrate your grasp of the concepts
we’ve covered thus far?”

Geret turned to Sanych, puzzled, expectant.
She glanced away, then looked him full in the face.

“Fine,” she said, and Geret saw defiance in
her eyes. He picked up an unused stool and sat down at the edge of
the room, unsure what to expect.

Sanych stepped to the center of the oblong
room, closing her eyes. She took a steady breath in and out, then
she opened them and said, “I’m ready.”

Geret didn’t know what he’d been expecting,
but having the hovering objects begin to attack Sanych wasn’t it.
He ducked instinctively, watching in alarm.