The Queen and the Cure

  “Lieutenant Jerick’s memories are currently the newest star in the sky. He was determined to keep you from Dendar, so I had to change his mind.”

  Padrig helped Kjell rise and eased him down on the bed, handing him his shirt before trying to shove his boots on his feet.

  Kjell swatted him aside and, swaying, managed to do it himself.

  “Why are you doing this?” Kjell hissed.

  “Doing what?” Padrig said, retrieving the confused Jerick from where he huddled against the wall. Jerick looked blankly at Kjell, displaying no recollection whatsoever. Padrig handed the befuddled, young lieutenant Kjell’s satchel of personal belongings and two other bags. “One of these is yours, Jerick. Can you carry them to the ship?”

  Jerick accepted them hesitantly, clearly not knowing what else to do.

  Kjell tried to sheath his sword, and Padrig rushed to his side, guiding the blade home before Kjell stabbed himself in the leg.

  “Helping me.” Kjell kept his eyes closed, his blurred vision compromising his ability to stay on his feet.

  “I’m not helping you, Captain. I’m attempting to help Dendar,” Padrig replied. “Now lean on me, and I’ll do my best to keep us both standing.” Padrig stepped under Kjell’s shoulder and slipped a thin arm around his waist.

  They tottered down the stairs, Kjell trusting the Spinner to keep him moving in the right direction, while he concentrated on using his legs and staying upright. Jerick followed behind with constant reassurance from Padrig that all would be well.

  “How is helping me helping Dendar?’ Kjell asked, reeling.

  “You must take this journey with us.”

  “Why? You said I would only cause Sasha pain.”

  “There are worse things than Saoirse’s pain,” Padrig huffed, staggering under Kjell’s considerable bulk. “I am more worried about what she has seen.” Padrig shook his head as if dismissing one thought for another. “Dendar doesn’t need a warrior, Dendar needs a Healer,” he said, inexplicably.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Spinner?” Kjell pressed, trying to order his thoughts and summon his comprehension.

  “I am telling you that there is a reason Saoirse has had visions of you since she was a child. Dendar needs you both, as painful and impossible as it might be,” Padrig muttered. “And I don’t dare leave you behind.”

  Kjell could see the ships still moored in the harbor, and he focused on the white sails, the draped rigging, and the bunk he could fall into once he locked the faithless Gibbous and the traitorous Jerick in the brig. He hadn’t decided yet what to do about the stubborn Sasha.

  “Praise the Creator,” Padrig panted. “I thought she would insist on leaving us both, Captain. I don’t think the queen is as fond of me as she once was.”

  A shout went up. They’d been seen. Suddenly, Isak and Peter were bearing him up, taking his weight from the breathless Padrig.

  “Captain Kjell! What is the meaning of this?” the captain of one ship—a man named Lortimer—was striding down the gangplank toward him.

  “Where is the queen?” Kjell muttered to his men.

  “She’s down below, Captain,” Isak answered immediately. “In her quarters. Gibbous put a man outside her door and the two maids inside with her. We thought you weren’t coming. Jerick told us you were ordered back to Jeru City.”

  “Jerick lets his heart make a fool of him.” He wasn’t the only one. “Go fetch Gibbous. Tell him his captain would like a word.” Isak ran to obey, and Kjell addressed the Spinner. “Give Jerick back his head, Star Maker.”

  “I will return the lieutenant’s memories.” Padrig said, but he hastened to add, “But maybe it is better if we leave him in Brisson Bay. Can you trust him, Healer?”

  “Padrig, I don’t trust anyone—not you, not Jerick, not even myself. Do as I say.” Kjell was on the verge of collapse, and he didn’t need Padrig’s wheedling or interference. He also didn’t need a mindless Jerick. Seeing his lieutenant afraid and disoriented made him angry. It made him think of Sasha, robbed of everything—home, family, even her self—walking to Firi, to bondage, because she didn’t know where else to go.

  “Very well, Captain.” Padrig shrugged. He flung his hands upward and a beam of light shot down from the sky, drawing gasps and cries from the crew and guard. Villagers on the docks gaped and a few screams were heard.

  “Bloody hell, Padrig.” Kjell groaned at the theatrics.

  “I don’t want that on my ship!” Lortimer cried, retreating up the gangplank. “I won’t have the Gifted on this vessel.”

  “Then you won’t see a single coin,” Kjell roared, “And we will unload our cargo and our people now, and you will answer to my sword before you will answer to the king.” His temper seared the fog from his head, but it didn’t ease the ache behind his eyes. He’d had enough sniveling and second-guessing to last him a lifetime.

  Padrig palmed the light and turned toward Jerick.

  Jerick took one look at the pulsing orb, and stumbled back, dropping the bags he still carried.

  “Jerick!” Kjell thundered, “We promised we would help you. Be still.”

  Jerick froze, his eyes on his captain, and he nodded, displaying the same trust that was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the impudence he’d never been able to suppress. Padrig lowered the light over his head and Jerick shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his legs buckling.

  “It doesn’t hurt, Captain,” Padrig reassured.

  “How would you know this, Padrig? You are awfully glib with other people’s pain,” Kjell said, watching his lieutenant straighten and awareness settle over his features. A guard reached for Jerick’s arm, steadying him, and Jerick’s eyes found Kjell, shock and wonder flitting across his features.

  Isak had reached the main deck, Gibbous on his heels, and Kjell could already see the suffering on the older man’s face. He waited to address Jerick until Gibbous stopped in front of him and dropped to one knee.

  “Captain, forgive me,” Gibbous moaned, bowing his head.

  “Not a word, Gibbous. You and Jerick will billet on the other ship and spend your first night in the brig. We won’t speak of this again.” Kjell turned to include Jerick in his statement. “I know you acted to protect me, but in doing so, you lost my trust.” From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red and pale blue skirts. Sasha stood on the quarterdeck, her hands gripping the rail, tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew she’d heard him, knew his words had pierced her, and he let his rebellious gaze and traitorous heart acknowledge her, absolving her, before he addressed the ship’s captain.

  “Prepare to sail, Lortimer,” Kjell ordered, and with as much dignity and strength as he could muster, he walked up the gangplank, trusting that his men would—this time—do exactly what he asked.

  ***

  For two days, Sasha stayed in her quarters, never setting foot on deck, never seeking him out. The two maids who quartered with her reported that she was seasick, and Kjell consoled himself with the fact that her cabin was probably the safest place for her. She wasn’t the only one who suffered. The seas were mild, remarkably so, but the motion of the ship and the endless movement was not something Kjell could even attempt to heal in any of the travelers. It would be futile. The sickness would simply rise again, brought on by the waves and the interminable rocking.

  Kjell felt no ill effects from the sea. He’d recovered from his bout with fury, betrayal, and drugged wine by remaining above deck where there was little to do but stay out of the way, and he enjoyed the peace of having no one looking to him or depending on him, if just for a day or two. Instead of sleeping in the officers’ quarters or bunking with his men, he slept on the quarterdeck, climbing up to the crow’s nest on the second morning despite the warning jest from Pascal, the first mate, that he was so big he would tip the boat over if he climbed too high. Kjell was used to his size and had carried it around most of his life. It had never stopped him before. He ignored the first mate and scramble
d up the rigging until he reached the lookout. Bracing his legs as wide as the little platform would allow, he spent an hour getting to know the sea through his spyglass.

  The waters had grown steadily bluer as they’d traveled farther from land. Kjell had never seen a color like it and wondered if the creatures beneath the surface were as brilliantly hued. A pod of whales—so many he thought for a moment he was seeing an island comprised of great, glistening rocks—rose to the surface, and trailed the two ships at a benign distance. They were beautiful, nonthreatening, and peaceful, but his enjoyment of their simplistic existence was marred by his suspicion that every beast below them and every bird above them was a Changer with unpredictable intentions.

  In the quiet of the second night, he was awakened by a hand on his sleeve and a timid voice in his ear. He shot to his feet, ready to do battle with a wolf who had morphed into a whale, but discovered a weary maid instead. She cowered below him, her hands raised to ward him off, and he scrubbed at his eyes and lowered his blade.

  “I’m s-s-sorry for waking you, Captain,” she squeaked. “But the queen is so sick. She can’t keep anything down, and she’s burning up. She’s been burning up for two days. I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do. I saw you heal the blacksmith. Maybe you can help her?”

  He helped the poor woman to her feet and followed her down the hatch into the belly of the ship. The passages were made for smaller men, but he bent his head and dismissed the guard outside the queen’s cabin with directions to go to bed. He would take watch.

  The two women traveling with the queen had kept Sasha clean and as comfortable as possible, but the stench of sickness clung to the air, and their fear was evident by the way they huddled and fussed. Sasha’s skin was so hot and dry he cursed. When her eyes fluttered open, misery-filled and feverish, he swore again.

  “I’m just seasick, Captain. It happens every time,” she reassured weakly. “It will pass.”

  He swooped her up, bringing her blankets with her, and the maids scrambled to open the small door and clear the way, hurrying behind him as he maneuvered sideways through the corridors, lifting the trailing covers like bridesmaids smoothing a veil.

  “She needs fresh air. Bring me water, another pillow, and then try to get some rest. I will see to her until morning,” he instructed. The women wilted in relief and rushed to obey. He sat with his back against the rail, eschewing the barrels lining one side for the deck, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, Sasha in his lap, her head against his chest. The temperature of her skin and the new frailty in her body made his stomach knot anxiously, but the air was clean and the breeze soft, lifting tendrils of her hair and stroking her cheeks sympathetically.

  Her vision, her balance, her whole being was turned inside out, as if the gift that gave her second sight made her more sensitive to motion. Over and over he helped her stand and braced her as she leaned out over the glossy water and retched, her belly convulsing uselessly. He urged her to drink, even if she couldn’t keep the water down.

  She begged him to go, humiliated by the endless roiling of her stomach, but Kjell held her as she quietly suffered, and searched his mind for a story to tell.

  “I watched the whales today . . . so many of them . . . there were little ones and enormous ones . . . a family—families. It is like they haven’t seen ships in a very long time, and they are curious.” He spoke to distract her, to comfort her, and by doing so, comfort himself.

  “Is the water just as blue?” she asked. The darkness made everything grey.

  “The bluest I’ve ever seen.”

  “The color of the sea is the only thing—besides being ill—that I really remember from the journey to Dendar and back again to Kilmorda. I remember the color of the sea . . . and I remember dreaming of you.” She grew quiet again, pensive, and Kjell knew she worried over him and her inability to keep him from Dendar.

  “Can you drink a little more?” he pressed. He thought the air was helping. Her cramping had eased and she hadn’t thrown up for nigh on an hour. She sipped from his carafe and he blotted her chin, noting the easing of her fever and the growing confidence with which she drank.

  “I thought you were angry with me,” she whispered.

  “I am,” he admitted.

  “But you are kind,” she whispered.

  “I’m not kind.”

  “And you are good,” she said, repeating the lines they’d exchanged once before.

  “I am not good.” He felt like weeping. He was not good. He was not generous. He was not courageous or compassionate. He simply loved her. And love made him a better man. That was all.

  “I have never met anyone like you.”

  “You were a slave in Quondoon,” he whispered, and stopped. He couldn’t continue the banter or repeat the things he’d once said to her. The journey then was about discovery. The journey now was about delivery. He would deliver her to Dendar, to a king, another man, and he would go.

  “I was a slave in Quondoon and a queen in Dendar,” she said, altering the original conversation. “I have changed. And yet . . . you are still Kjell of Jeru, and you have not changed toward me.”

  “I made a promise.”

  “To whom?”

  “To you. I told you at the base of a cliff near Solemn, that if you came back I would try to love you.”

  “You told me you lied,” she whispered, grief whisking away her words.

  “It was not a lie, it was a promise. I intend to keep it, even when you make me angry. Even when you convince my men to act like idiots. Even though you are not . . . mine.”

  She moaned, and he tried to help her stand, thinking her stomach was rebelling once more, but she buried her face and he realized it was not sickness but sadness, and he relaxed back against the rails.

  “Sleep, Sasha.”

  After a while she succumbed, becoming limp in his arms, lost in relief, and he listened to the waves caress the hull and whispered all the things he hadn’t told her and now wouldn’t ever tell her.

  “It was not your face I fell in love with. It was not your great, sad eyes or your soft mouth, or the gold flecks on your skin or the shape of your body.” His heart quaked and his stomach tightened, acknowledging that he relished those things too. “I fell in love with you in pieces. Layer by layer, day by day, inch by inch.

  “I love the part of you that shows compassion even though no compassion has been extended. I love the part of you that held my hand and helped me heal. I love the part of you that reassures others when you are afraid. The part that mourned for Maximus of Jeru and the boy who loved him. I love the pieces of the woman who was lost but never misplaced her dignity, who couldn’t remember, but never really forgot. Who was a slave but behaved like a queen.”

  When dawn came, Kjell rigged the lowest sail to cast a shadow over Sasha, worried about her getting too warm but afraid to send her back below deck. She had slept deeply for three hours without vomiting, and Kjell began to relax, reassured that the worst had past.

  When she woke she was thirsty and pale, but her fever had broken and her stomach was calm. He helped her to her quarters, hopeful that she could spend the next two days before reaching Dendar recovering her strength. But she returned two hours later, dressed in a new gown with her hair neatly braided around her head, creating a thick crown worthy of her title. She looked lovely, but she didn’t look well, and in addition to her fresh clothing, she wore the haunted expression and sunken eyes of things better left unseen.

  “Tie everything down, send everyone below, and close the distance with the other ship,” she said, raising her voice to include Lortimer and his crew. They stared at her blankly. Just like the night of the rock slide and the sky before the sandstorm, the water was so peaceful it made her demands ridiculous, even comical.

  “What do you see, Majesty?” Kjell asked, and her eyes found his, acknowledging his use of her title.

  “I see the ships being tossed and men in the water—men drowning,”
she answered firmly. “I don’t know why.”

  Captain Lortimer wanted to drop his cargo in Dendar and be done with the lot of them. He was being well paid and the journey had gone without incident despite his fear of Padrig, who treated him with haughty ambivalence. Lortimer could afford to “appease the whims of a royal,” and he shrugged at Sasha’s insistence and allowed Kjell to order his crew about. The sailors followed Kjell’s instructions with suspicious industry, muttering among themselves, but they were dismissive of a mere woman telling sailors what to do. The King’s Guard and the travelers from Jeru, having seen her abilities firsthand, were less inclined to ignore her warnings. The guard set about redistributing the supplies in the hold and securing the stores, and the rest of the voyagers retired to their rooms to pray for deliverance.

  They lowered a longboat over the side and sent a messenger across to their sister vessel with a warning to be on the lookout for hurricanes and anything—everything—else. Sasha stood on the deck, her body rigid, her hands gripping the rail, thankfully steady on her feet, her sickness abated, her fear great. And they waited, on edge all day.

  The sun was sinking, brushing a shimmer of pink paint across a darkening sea, when Pascal saw something about two hundred yards off the bow.

  “Captain, just ahead.” The first mate handed Lortimer his spyglass and pointed at the brilliant horizon.

  The emerging dome was so big it created the effect of a large rock rising from the sea before it vanished beneath the surface once more.

  “It’s probably a whale,” Lortimer reassured, but he held the glass to his eye a little too long. Something undulated, and the odd projection rose and fell again.

  “The whales don’t bother the ships. In these waters, whales are the least of our worries,” Lortimer added.

  “Oh yes? And what do you worry most about?” Sasha asked, her eyes glued to the place where the unidentified creature had disappeared.

  “Storms. And so far, Majesty, we are doing just fine on that account. I’ve never seen a calmer sea. We could actually do with a little wind.”