“I will protect you, honored Rabbit, when we arrive in the Border,” Laurel finally said. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”
I nodded. “Yes, Laurel Faena.”
Laurel caught my arm and gently pulled me around so we faced each other. “What did the Magus do to instill such fear in you?”
I shrugged, as a memory I had long pushed down surfaced. Sitting at my apprentice’s desk in the Magus’ study, I’d quickly solved a problem he had given me as he stood over my shoulder. I remembered looking up into his face, expecting the same kind of warm praise my da would give for a job well done, only to freeze at the glitter in the Magus’ eyes as he stared down at me. “He’d look at me like I was an egg full of meat and he a starving man,” I said after a moment.
Laurel sighed, his paw still resting on my arm. “As I’ve said before, you’re very powerful, and some collect power as barrels collect rain. Here a drop, there a sprinkle, until they’re full and wet even when everything else is dry and there are no clouds in sight.” He let his paw drop but continued to watch me. “Tell me, Rabbit, did you go through a ceremony when you first came to the Magus?”
Another memory arose. “Yes.” I thought a moment. “The Magus cut a lock of my hair off, then gave me water in a silver cup. He threw the hair in a fire he had burning in a bowl.” The flame had no fuel that I could see sustaining it and he held the bowl in one hand, mindless of any heat, and fed the hair with the other. I remembered my wary astonishment as the fire burned blue.
“The fire and water were to bind you to the Magus.” Laurel laughed at my look of indignant horror. “Oh, not forever, Rabbit. Apprentices cannot be kept bound once they’ve demonstrated a mastery of their craft.” Laurel stopped laughing, but his whiskers remained swept back in amusement. “Which happens in fifteen to thirty years. The Magus was with his master twenty before he was declared a mage.” He eyed me with interest. “You should’ve been bound so tight that you couldn’t have even thought of leaving. He must have been very surprised when he discovered you were gone, and I do not wonder that he believed Honor Ash had something to do with it.”
I said nothing, trying to deal with what Laurel had said.
Laurel rumbled—it was almost a purr. “And the Magus must’ve been very, very surprised when, after he had finally found you, he was swatted away again like a pest of a fly.” He saw my look. “Captain Suiden told me about it after your first encounter with Slevoic ibn Dru. He was worried that your sickness might make you vulnerable to the Magus’ influence.” He shrugged, his beads clacking. “And perhaps you would’ve been, but with the rune—”
“There were more than one,” I said, interrupting Laurel.
“What?”
“I saw their eyes, there were more than one that found me.”
“More than one mage.” Laurel’s voice was flat.
It was quiet, the sailors apparently having finished, and now all I heard was the murmur of men speaking in the distance and the creaking of the ship as it gently rocked in the harbor currents.
“Still think you can protect me?”
“What?” Laurel said again as he returned from wherever he had gone. “Oh, of course. That is not a problem, Rabbit.” His eyes glowed in the lantern light as he stared at me. “How many more were there?”
I counted the shadows that I had seen. “Five, I think.”
“Five mages and you knocked them away, then shut them out so that they were reduced to sending messenger birds.”
Suiden wasn’t the only one who had been talking, though to be fair, Laurel could’ve learned about the bird from almost anyone, not just the king.
Laurel shook his head, sending his beads rattling once more. “No, Magus Kareste shall not get you back, indentures or no.” He raised his paw and the rune shone against the darkness and my palm echoed its warmth. “So I swear to you, Rabbit. Fiat.”
Chapter Forty-eight
It seemed that Admiral Lord Noal felt that even three ships were scant protection with the Turalian menace lurking out in the open sea, as we were rendezvousing with Vice Admiral Chause for additional protection. In the afternoon of our second day at sea, sails were sighted and I watched Captain Suiden come out of his cabin, followed by the ship’s first officer, and peer through a spyglass. He then collapsed it and handed it to Lieutenant Falkin, and they both went back into his cabin.
I had suggested to Captain Suiden when we had first set sail that I didn’t need to be guarded anymore as all those who wished me harm were either in custody, fled, or back on shore. Suiden had suggested back that maybe I had too much time on my hands as I was coming up with stupid suggestions, and if I had any more like that, he would find something to occupy my time, like cleaning out the bilges. So Jeff and I stood in a spot out of the way of the scurrying sailors, watching the sails of the other ships grow larger on our horizon. Worry tightened my spine at the thought of meeting another family member, as the ones I’d met so far, with the exception of the king, had not been pleasant.
On the other hand, for the first time in three years I didn’t have the threat of Slevoic hanging over me, I wasn’t seasick (like Ryson—there was a God), and the sun felt good across the back of my shoulders, the wind brisk in my face. My lips pulled into a reluctant smile. Life, at least at this moment, was tolerable. . .
“Misbegotten spawn of a pig-swiving cur! Haunt my galley, will you?” Jeff and I turned around just in time to see something flash by. It made a turn and headed back towards us—Basel’s shade. He overshot his mark and almost ended out in the sea, then quickly moved behind me. We stared at him, then shifted as we heard pounding steps coming our way. The ship’s cook ran into view, wearing a stained apron and carrying a huge meat cleaver. I took a step back and nearly went over the rail myself as I realized the cook’s apron and cleaver were full of drying blood.
It’d become clear within a short while of us setting sail that the Dauntless’ crew was unhappy with us replacing their marines, with an army captain being foisted on them, with the magical, with women on board, with the cargo, with our destination. And they were extremely unhappy with Basel. A Freston lady once told me that soldiers were wholly given over to talismans, mascots, and rituals. (So I always put my armor on in a certain order; I’m still alive.) But we were piddlers compared to seamen, who had superstitions about everything—as one trooper discovered when he started to whistle. Ghosts, especially those of murdered men, topped the unlucky list. They must have been told that Basel was part of our complement because there were no shrieks, screams or other displays of alarm when he arrived on board with us. There was, however, a lot of spitting and other signs to ward off evil. At first it was sort of upsetting, but then I figured that if they wanted to hawk all over the deck, it was fine by me—I didn’t have to clean it up.
I faced the ship’s cook as he hefted his cleaver and glared through me at Basel. “You keep that whoreson out of my galley, or I’ll send him to hell where he belongs!”
There was an army rule that the cook was never to be upset (especially around mealtimes), but I’d be pox rotted if I’d allow the salt dog to threaten me. Besides, as I eyed his gory cleaver and apron, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to eat anything he was preparing. “Are you waving that cleaver at me, sailor?” I asked.
There was a sudden stillness as both sailors and soldiers stopped to watch, and First Lieutenant Falkin emerged from the crowd to stand next to the cook.
If King Jusson looked like a dark elf from the coastal city-states, Falkin was from the northern elfin clans. Tall and slender, with dark gray eyes set above high cheekbones, his fair skin showed none of the weathering of one who’d been since childhood at sea. He wore his pale blond hair long enough to completely cover his ears, and I wondered if the sailors considered pointed ones unlucky.