Read Stormsinger (Storms in Amethir Book 1) Online
Authors: Stephanie A. Cain
Stormsinger (Storms in Amethir Book 1) (4 page)
Something was off. Kinnet could feel the wrongness of his song, the jarring parts that jostled each other. She didn't know what it was that made it so. She wondered what it sounded like to the others. She opened her mouth and pushed vibrations from her throat, not knowing and not caring what the prince or his general or the captain would think of her. She abandoned her dignity and matched the stormsinger's song, and when she had the grasp of what was wrong with it, she fixed it.
It was sheer arrogance to think she could sing better than this great leviathan, this master singer. It was madness to believe she could correct his mistake.
But when she changed the song, she felt an instant answer. Not in the storm, for there was no reprieve. If anything, the lightning flashed more furiously than before. And not in the sea, for the waves tossed them, sending the
Dawn Star
rolling one way and then the other.
But there was an answer.
Tears streamed down Kinnet's face, mingling with the rain, and she shook with the power of the answer.
They will come
, she told the stormsinger.
They hear us.
"Reef those damned sails!" Arama howled. She'd had to help Lo drag the prince back from the foredeck to amidships, and she was perilously close to tying the prince to the mast. What was he thinking, leaning over the railing like that in the face of a leviathan? And that gods-be-damned stormwitch, taunting the monster and trying to get them sunk.
"It won't hurt us," Vistaren was saying. "It isn't here for that."
"And what makes you think that, your highness? Have you suddenly learned you have the witchery?" She tried to keep the bite from her voice, but she couldn't. Her bare toes were freezing; her clothes stuck to her. She was terrified. Arama hated being terrified.
"Kinnet told me," he said.
To Arama's shock, Lo let go of Vistaren's shoulders. "What are you doing?" she screeched. She heard the hysteria in her voice and despised herself. How could she be so weak in the face of danger? Even danger brought on them by an arrogant stormwitch who had more power than she had sense?
Lo shook his head and moved away. Arama began to turn and face him, then recoiled as a line slashed her in the face. She felt the end of it lay open her cheek. Blood gushed hot down her face.
"Get below!" she snapped at Vistaren. She slapped a hand against her cheek and lunged for the line as it whipped through the air. "Please, Prince Vistaren! Get to safety!"
Her fingers closed on the line and she threw her weight backwards, securing the line. The prince nodded and lurched his way the dozen steps to the cabin. Arama closed her eyes for a moment, breathing a prayer of thanks to the sea god.
That was when Kinnet Ardelis began to sing. It was the strangest damn sound Arama had ever heard in her life. A primal noise, wailing and howling in the higher pitches, then dropping to a moaning croon. It blended with the keening groans that rose from the sea underneath them. Lightning crackled overheard. Thunder crashed with the force of a slap.
And they came.
The sea erupted around them as more leviathans broke the surface, driving up more than an oar-length into the air before crashing back down. Kinnet's voice throbbed with exultation. Arama realized there were tears on her face, mixing with the blood on her left cheek. Hands closed around her shoulders.
"She brought the others." Lo's lips brushed her ear. There was a surprising joy in his voice.
"What?"
"She said he was lonely. It was how Vistaren knew he wouldn't hurt us." Lo tugged her back, ever so gently. "Your cheek is bleeding."
Arama let herself be pulled back against his chest. It was as broad and strong as she had always imagined it would be. Her throat tightened. She couldn't allow this. She couldn't enjoy this. But--
"The line caught it," she managed. "I'm all right."
"Feel that?" He staggered once as the bow of the ship dove into the next trough. The wave they climbed next wasn't as steep, though, and the trough that followed wasn't as deep. "The sea is calming."
Arama swallowed. Her heart was racing. She closed her eyes and let her head sink back until it touched Lo's shoulder. "The leviathan was singing up the storm, wasn't he?"
"Him or Kinnet, or maybe both of them. You need to lie down. You're losing a lot of blood." Lo's voice was kind. Lo's voice was, she thought, always kind. But at the moment she appreciated that kindness. He wasn't saying anything about her uncontrolled terror from before.
"Surgeon'll...look at it..." she murmured. She was exhausted from the fear energy leaving her. She allowed him to guide her inside. "Tell the mate--"
"I'll tell him," Lo interrupted. "He knows what to do. Let's get that cut stitched."
"Not until the sea calms down more." Arama closed her eyes. "Could put out an eye otherwise."
The pleasant sound of Lo's chuckle lingered on the air as he went back out.
"He just wanted a companion." Vistaren had been repeating some variation of those words at least once an hour since the seas calmed and the leviathan swam off with his new-found companion. He couldn't get beyond it. Sitting in his cabin with less than a day between him and his future bride, he found himself even more frightened than he had been before. "All that because he was lonely."
"Loneliness is powerful, my prince." Lozarr's gray eyes hadn't lost any of their sadness, but the lines around his mouth had relaxed a bit. Vistaren thought Arama was still holding him at arm's length, but he'd seen the trust she'd placed in Lo when he'd carried her into the cabin. It might be enough for Lo. Vistaren didn't think that would be enough for him.
"So much pain because no one understood him." Would that happen to him? Would his marriage steal any hope of happiness and companionship from him? Would he be driven to wander, crying his loneliness to the deeps--
"Someone did understand him," Lo said. He rested a hand briefly on Vistaren's shoulder. "Kinnet understood him."
"She wasn't what he needed though."
Lo arched an eyebrow. "Are you so sure of that? She met his need. She answered his song. She found him his companion."
Vistaren made a face. "All right, I see what you're getting at."
"Do you?" Lo straddled a chair and leaned on the back, meeting Vistaren's eyes. "I've seen you watching us. Arama and me. It's not always like this, Ren. And your situation is night and day away from ours, anyway. You don't have a choice about a political marriage, all right. But you do have a choice about whether you'll make it easy on her, or hard. You have a choice about whether you'll be happy or not. And you may feel no passion for her, but there are other kinds of love. You act like this is a situation that's entirely black and white, but it isn't."
"You know that isn't me, though, Lo." Vistaren looked at the planks between his feet. He couldn't keep holding that gaze. Lo had to have known about the mad passion Vistaren had felt for him last year. He had to have noticed that it wasn't the court daughters who caught Vistaren's eye.
"I know. I didn't say it was fair. I know the sacrifice you're being asked to make. But it's one of the things I've always admired about you, Ren. You've always done what you think is right for Amethir." Lo squeezed his shoulder. "I know you will again."
"But what's best for Amethir?" Vistaren burst out. "For them to have a king who loves men? Or for them to have a king who denies everything he's ever felt to give them an heir of the body?"
Lo's gaze was sad as he smiled. "I'm not the one who can answer that."
Arama's fingers crept up her cheek again. With an effort, she jerked her hand back down at her side and clenched her fist. The surgeon had done a good job sewing her cheek. It probably wouldn't scar. Not that it mattered, but she wanted to avoid infection.
The duty was done. She'd brought the prince and his honor guard safely through to Ranarr. On balance, Arama thought the trip might have been safer if they'd skimmed in close to the Blades. But done was done, and she couldn't deny that Kinnet Ardelis had been stormwitch enough to get them through safe.
The stormwitch in question approached, her bag slung over one shoulder. She thought highly of herself, there was no denying that. It was clear in the tilt of her chin and the way she carried her shoulders. But she didn't think herself above carrying her own bag, so there was that.
"Stormwitch Ardelis." Arama wasn't sure what to say. I'm glad you're off my ship? Someone ought to warn the next captain you sail with? She fought a smile at the thought of Kinnet Ardelis with a parchment warning tied around her neck.
"Captain Dzornaea. Thank you for allowing me to sail with you. And..." She paused, her gray eyes flickering. "Thank you for not throwing me in the brig after what I did."
Arama tilted her head. "What, learning how to communicate with one of the leviathan? Discovering the stormsingers were--are--real?"
Kinnet smiled. It was a true smile, and the first Arama'd seen from her. "Nearly sinking your ship," she said. "However unintentionally."
"Eh. It would have been too much trouble, since you didn't sink us." Arama waved a hand. She was still watching Kinnet make her graceful way down the gangplank when warm fingers curled around hers.
Lo. She felt her throat squeeze, but she didn't pull her fingers away.
"You're the finest captain I've ever sailed with," he said. "Thank you for keeping the prince safe."
Arama cocked an eyebrow at him. "Try to keep him that way. He hasn't exactly chosen an easy path." She wasn't just talking about Vistaren.
Lo must have picked up on it. He smiled, though the old sadness was still in his eyes. "I'm not sure how much of it was a choice," he murmured. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, whiskers scraping pleasantly against her skin. "Take care of yourself, Arama."
"I will."
She watched him walk away. He was tall and handsome and capable, and he cared too much for her. Maybe someday she would be able to accept that. But not today.
"After all," she muttered, "taking care of myself is what I'm good at."
He is no longer alone.
The stormsinger pushes his mighty way through the sea, companion by his side. Sometimes they are joined by others of their kind. Sometimes they swim alone. When they sing together, his companion begins the song. He cannot sing alone--Kinnet Ardelis showed him that.
The best songs were never meant to be sung alone, anyway.
"Come, one last match," Azmei pleaded, looking up at her brother. "Think of how long it might be before we ever see each other again."
She had waylaid him after breakfast, knowing he had responsibilities--but she had responsibilities too, after all. Besides, she was leaving in a fortnight, perhaps forever, and Razem was travelling east to take command at the front. They might never see each other again.
Razem's stern expression melted. "You know exactly how impossible it is to resist you when you look at someone like that, don't you?" He scowled at her trousers and plain shirt, the sword and dagger hanging from her belt. "You planned this."
"Of course I did." Azmei was unrepentant. "We haven't tested our blades against each other in ages, and this might be our last chance, at least until after I'm an old, married matron. I want to see if I've grown better than you in the past year."
"Small chance of that, shortling," he teased, and ruffled her hair. "Come along, then, let's find an empty ring."
Azmei felt like skipping as they made their way to the training yards. Once upon a time, she and Razem had fought practice matches every few weeks. She had always longed to beat her brother, but it never happened. She had just reached the point where she could wear him down and score a touch on him when Razem began training with the professional warriors of their army. After that, he didn't have much time for Azmei's recreational swordplay. Princes were expected to prove their valor in warfare, and the bloody conflict over the Kreyden District would give him that opportunity. It had been at least a year since Razem had seen Azmei fight.
They stretched and limbered up. In anticipation of the match, Azmei had worn her hair braided back from her face. Grinning at him, she drew her sword in her right hand and her dagger in her left.
"Very well, shortling, let's see if you're any better than you were last time." Razem's sword was longer, and he had the reach of her, but Azmei had always been quicker than he. It was perhaps the only advantage in being so small. She was able to dart in, feinting, and then skip out of his way before he could touch on her.
What began as a laughing, lighthearted bout quickly turned into a more serious match as Razem discovered how much Azmei had practiced recently. She'd gone at her exercises more strenuously since learning she would be going on a sea voyage. Most of the danger would be averted simply because the Storm Petrel--Amethir's most notorious privateer--would be escorting the Amethirian prince to meet Azmei, and therefore not preying on Tamnese ships. But there was always the chance a Strid ship would decide the
Victorious
looked like easy prey. Azmei would not be the sort of princess who relied on others to protect her.
"You've been practicing, little sister," Razem said. He wasn't out of breath yet, but his voice no longer had the easygoing tone.
"And observing the training classes as often as possible," she agreed. She danced in, feinting with her sword while thrusting with her dagger. Razem deflected it neatly and turned it into a counterstrike. Azmei swore under her breath, and Razem laughed at her.
"Less bragging, shortling," he advised. "Let your actions speak for you."
They fell to it in earnest then. She could tell Razem was feeling her out for any weaknesses or slow maneuvers. She couldn't quite match him stroke for stroke, but her footwork came with less effort than his. Probably all the dancing practice she'd been forced to do lately.
Their blade hilts locked. Azmei shoved her hip against Razem's, trying to knock him off balance. He hooked a foot around her ankle and jerked. Azmei tumbled, swearing.
"You always try that trick, and you always fail." Razem backed up, lowering his blade, but Azmei rolled to her feet, lunging at him. He managed to parry--but only just.
"That's a new trick," she crowed, falling into the guard position again. Razem grunted and came at her again.
"You'll probably pester the Storm Petrel for fencing lessons, won't you?" he muttered. "My sister, surrounded by stormwitches and pirates. It's sickening."
"It's practical," she countered, blocking his dagger with her own. She didn't have too many tricks with her blades--she just practiced the ones she had until they were polished. Most of them didn't work on Razem, since he was used to her fighting style, but the new one should have worked.
"Father sold you to the Amethirian prince!" Razem's swings had more force to them. Azmei felt the shock of countering them all the way to her shoulders.
"He maneuvered me into a position to be useful to you," she snapped. "And you'd do better to be grateful for it! Have you forgotten about Dinnsan?"
She ducked under Razem's next swing. She came up under his blade, hitting at his stomach with the pommel of her dagger. He twisted to avoid it and stumbled several steps. He spat into the dirt of the ring. "Honorless dogs."
Dinnsan was the final blow to an already-crumbling defense of the western Kreyden District. The Strid legion had burned the entire town after breaching the wall. Razem and Azmei's cousin had been killed in the defense. His death was what made her agree to the peace treaty. Six months later, Razem was still furious about Dinnsan. While Azmei had lapsed into grief, her anger flaring occasionally, Razem's hatred burned strong.
Azmei sighed and lowered her blade. "I shouldn't have brought it up," she mumbled.
Razem's blade rang against hers. It caught her by surprise. Her sword went flying and landed in the dirt. Azmei glared at her brother.
He sheathed his blades. "Never let down your guard. The moment your enemy seems weakest might be the moment he's arranged to disarm you."
Azmei wanted to stick her tongue out at him, as she had when they were just learning how to hold a sword. She sighed instead and went to pick up her weapon. She checked it for nicks and wiped the dirt from the blade using her shirt tail.
"I shall keep practicing," she said. "The next time we meet, I'll beat you."
He didn't laugh. "I believe you might. I must practice more diligently in anticipation."
Azmei looked around and saw a servant standing by with a jug of water and drying cloths. Their match had drawn more attention than she'd intended. She and Razem both washed their hands and faces, then drank gratefully.
Before they parted, Azmei to return to the onerous task of packing whatever she might need for her new life in Amethir and Razem to attend whatever meetings or councils he had skipped to humor her, she put a hand on his arm. "Thank you, big brother," she said, and went on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
His gaze softened. "I am glad I could oblige, little sister."
"Be careful," she implored. "After Venra--" She broke off, nose prickling. Venra had been their favorite cousin. But Razem understood what she didn't say.
He bent to kiss her forehead. "You be careful too, Az. I'm not the only one going into danger."