The Quartered Sea (8 page)

He took a deep breath and slowly released the bunched handful of robe he'd been gripping. "And you?"

"Do I agree that she's sending a shipload of fools to their deaths? No. Do I agree that we have too few bards to waste one on this nonsense? No. Do I agree that you're doing the right thing in discouraging the bards from volunteering…" Before she could add one final no, Kovar interrupted.

"I am not," he growled, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down at her, "discouraging the bards from volunteering. They have brains enough of their own to see this
exploration
for the death trap it is."

"And yet, if you hadn't been making it quite so clear that you see it as a death trap, I can't help but think that some of the younger bards might be a little more willing to take the risk."

"Some of the younger bards?" he repeated with a harsh laugh, as nonmusical a sound as Magda, who'd spent her entire life among bards, had ever heard. "Tell that to Tadeus. The old fool is the only bard who thinks himself immortal enough to try.'"

"And Benedikt?"

"He doesn't think enough of himself to see the danger."

That, Magda had to admit, was a distinct possibility, but Tadeus was no fool. He was nearly of an age with Kovar, and so it was only to be expected that the Bardic Captain would have less influence on him than on the younger bards. Was this indicative, she wondered, of a split in ideology by age? "Perhaps I should speak to Tadeus."

"You might as well," Kovar told her tightly. "Since it seems you've nothing of value to say to the queen." Quartered robes whipping around his ankles, he strode for the door and paused, one foot over the threshold. Pivoting around, he pointed an inkstained finger at the healer. "This voyage is nothing but a personal indulgence by a monarch who doesn't seem to realize we have everything we need right here."

Magda sat where she was, forehead creased, until the staccato beat of his angry footsteps faded then she slowly pushed back her chair, stepped out into the wide hall, and flagged down the first apprentice she saw.

And she'd call in a few favors to make certain that when Benedikt arrived back at the Citadel, he'd come to her before he spoke with the Bardic Captain.

* * *

The applause when he finished playing flung Benedikt up onto his feet and spun him around, heart beating so hard against his ribs he thought it might break free. "Pjazef! How long have you been standing there?"

"Just for the last song." A little taken aback at the reaction, he pushed his way through the last bit of dog willow. "Are you okay?"

Benedikt shook his head and then protested he was fine when he saw the concern on the older bard's face. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!"

"I didn't want to interrupt. It's a great piece, Benedikt. Did you just write it?"

He bent and carefully laid his quintara in the instrument case. "Why?"

"Because it sounds like a brook dancing down the mountainside, and there isn't anyone else who can interpret water like you do."

"Oh." Pleased, he straightened and nodded. "I finished it last night."

"Could you teach it to me?"

It hadn't been his for very long, but there wasn't a graceful way to refuse such a normal bardic request. "Sure." He bent back toward the instrument case.

Pjazef stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Not now. I have news." Brushing a bit of forest flotsam from the sleeve of his jacket, he grinned at Benedikt's expression and continued. "I have a message from the queen. Well, actually, it's from Evicka since she Sang it, but…"

"Pjazef!" Benedikt was not in the mood for a lengthy monologue of bardic gossip. He had a message from the queen. The queen.

"Right. You're to cut your Walk short by swinging around this side of Ohrid's border and cutting back through Vidor to arrive in Elbasan no later than the dark of the second moon."

"Me?" The queen wanted him. Benedikt felt a rush of joy so great that he couldn't contain it. Giving a great shout of laughter, he grabbed Pjazef around the waist and hoisted him up into the air.

Chapter Three

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"THERE she is, Majesty, the
Starfarer"

Jelena stared up at the ship, gaze sweeping along the curved side, out the bow, and alighting momentarily on each of the three masts. "She looks so bare."

"She'll look less bare once we've got her yards and sheets up," the master of the Elbasan shipyards told her reassuringly. "We're concerned right now about making her watertight, and we can't know that for certain unless she's in the water."

"She's not very…" Otavas paused but was unable to think of a tactful finish. "She's not very big."

"No, Highness, she's not," the master shipwright agreed. "Including her castles, she's only seventy-three feet long. The castles are those bits that rise above the main deck," he added, when both queen and consort turned confused expressions toward him. "She's got a twenty-one-inch beam over all and an air draft of seventy-one feet including her topsail. But she'll carry 2,360 square feet of sail when she's fully rigged, and you won't find a better bark in these yards."

Head swimming with nautical terms he barely understood, Otavas glanced down at Jelena. Although he suspected she understood no more of the description than he did, she was staring at the
Starfarer
with shining eyes, one hand stretched out as though to close the distance between them. He quickly suppressed a disquieting hint of jealousy, reminding himself that this visit had been his idea.

"I think she's beautiful."

"Thank you, Majesty." The master shipwright beamed proudly up at the hull, one scarred hand holding blowing hair back off his face. "I think so, too."

Otavas rested a thigh on the corner of the queen's desk and leaned across it until he could read the papers spread in front of her. "The merchant captain?"

Jelena studied his profile, a little confused by the smile in his voice. "That's right."

"Lord Dumin will be disappointed." Otavas and Dumin i'Janina a'Vasil, Lord High Commander of the Shkoden Navy had disliked each other on sight. Fully aware that Dumin considered him not only feckless but dangerously foreign, the prince thought the Lord High Commander a self-righteous, pompous, old
harnivatayger
—which had no direct Shkoden translation although a number of the younger bards were cheerfully working on it. While he wouldn't go so far as to wish the older man an injury, he wasn't above enjoying his disappointment. "He wanted you to chose a navy captain."

It suddenly became clear why Otavas found her choice amusing. "Yes, well, I wanted a captain who actually wanted to go on this voyage; not one encouraged to volunteer by Lord Dumin." Leaning back in her chair, Jelena twisted the royal signet around her finger. It had been sized to fit her just after her mother's death, but she'd lost so much weight during those dark quarters that only her knuckle kept her from losing it with every movement of her hand. "I didn't expect hundreds of volunteers—successful captains are seldom reckless captains—but neither did I expect to have so few to choose from. Fewer still after subtracting Dumin's politically motivated suggestions. And do you know why?"

Although he did know—at least he knew what Jelena believed—Otavas obediently shook his head, realizing that she was going to say it again regardless.

"Kovar," she declared, eyes narrowing. "There've been no songs wondering what might be over the next wave, no songs extolling the adventure of discovery. There've been no songs about this voyage at all, and the people of Shkoder know very well what that means. Kovar is against the idea, and the bards take their cue from him."

"And you can't tell the bards what to sing…"

"Or I'll be spending the rest of my life wondering about every new piece of information—is it the truth or is it what the bards think I want to hear?" Shoving back her chair, she surged to her feet and brandished a sheaf of maps at her grinning consort. "I don't care what that narrow-minded old man thinks, the
Starfarer
will find the homeland of the dark sailor, and when she comes back with proof, I hope he'll enjoy eating his words. And if she doesn't find the dark sailor's homeland, then she'll just keep going west until she lands in the silklands in the east, giving the Fienian traders the surprise of their lives and proving once and for all that the world is round. And Kovar can eat that, too." Pausing for breath, she finally noticed Otavas' expression. "What are you smiling about?"

He swung himself over the desk and scooped her into his arms. "I'm just happy to see you like this. Alive. Questioning. It's exciting." Pushing the maps aside, he drew her close. "I'm thinking," he murmured against her ear, "that maybe we should go on our own voyage of discovery."

Her eyes widened, then slid nearly closed as he took her earlobe between his teeth. "And discover what?" she sighed.

"Why not the center of the Circle?"

"Tavas!" But her protest at his irreligious comment carried little force. She arched her back as he unfastened the bottom three buttons on her tunic and slid a hand in under the outer layer of wool. "Now?"

One hand fumbling with Otavas' belt, the other entwined in his hair, Jelena turned scarlet and forced her voice into something resembling normal tones. "I'm busy, Nikki."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon," the page's voice came muffled but audible through the heavy door, "but you asked me to remind you about that meeting with Lord Brencis and Lady Hermina. They're waiting for you in the small audience chamber."

"Tavas…"

"I know." He released her and stepped back so she could fix her clothing. "But it's lucky for you," he added, with a leer, "that I was raised to recognize the responsibilities of royalty."

Smiling distractedly, Jelena tucked her shirt back into her waistband. "Lord Brencis and Lady Hermina were instrumental in convincing the Council to agree to fund the
Starfarer
and her crew."

"Were they?" he asked softly, reaching out to fasten the buttons he'd undone. "In my opinion, the Council was so happy you'd found yourself again, they'd have agreed to almost anything you asked."

"Perhaps." Her fingers closed over his for a moment then she hurried toward the door. "But Lord Brencis and Lady Hermina were
perceived
as being instrumental, and you know as well as I do that needs a perceived response."