Read Online Shadow Of The Winter King (Book 1) by Erik Scott de Bie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erik Scott de Bie
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nodded over her shoulder.
Regel shook his head.
“Lenalin and I,” Ovelia said. “When we were girls, named but not marked, she—she came up with this plan. We sneaked away from the palace. Perhaps Nefeti did not know us, or else he wished not to offend us. Either way, he gave us the matching marks we asked for.”
“In one night?” Regel touched his simple teardrop tattoo, which had taken an hour to craft.
“Several nights,” Ovelia said. “For a moon, we came to this place whenever we could get away unnoticed. We’d sneak out and make our way here, hand-in-hand. It was my duty to protect her, you understand, but I’d have gone anyway.” She touched the back of her neck.
“It was painful,” Regel said.
“Very.” Ovelia winced. “I held my silence throughout, as best I could. I...” She looked at her empty fingers. “I held Lena’s hand when she cried out. She clutched my hand so tightly.”
“You wanted to have your own marks of your own making,” Regel said. “Brave.”
“We were foolish,” Ovelia said. “The king was furious, of course, but Lena soothed him. She... she had a gift with words, and he forgave us. I was punished for my indiscretion, of course, but then, I deserved it. Honor would have permitted no less.” Ovelia smiled wanly.
“Indeed.” Regel had been there, secretly following Ovelia and Lenalin, and he himself had told the king of their childish rebellion. Orbrin had commanded Regel to follow them every time they slipped away—a lurking shadow to ensure their safety. “We should make haste.”
“Yes.” Ovelia pointed to one of the ships in particular, where hooded lanterns burned faintly. “If we tarry, Captain Fersi will sail without us, and it is a long swim to the Summerlands.”
Ships groaned gently in their low-city moorings, shifting with the dawn tide. The lanterns led them to a merchant caravel with white and red sails, the words White Dart emblazoned on the keel. Next to the script ran the likeness of a white bird of prey on a silver field. Regel conceived respect for this Fersi’s courage, to bear a crest with Denerre’s colors, subtle as it might be. In a world where the art of words faded year by year, symbols had great power.
A cry rose aboard the Dart . Crewmen appeared at the banister, displeased faces peering down at them shrewdly. The ship must have been waiting for some time. Then one of them spoke.
“Ah, Lady Aniset!” The boistrous voice seemed to address Ovelia with this name that did not belong to her. A thick-set man pushed between the sailors and bowed to them from the top of the boarding plank. “I was beginning to fear you would not come.”
The man had a thick accent that made his words awkward. His deeply tanned skin and bleached white hair marked him for a Free Islander, and the many gold rings and jewels in his ears and nose spoke of the Islands’ exotic traditions. The islands had not fallen to Ruin, but sages debated whether they’d ever been civilized in the first place. Pirates and deserters lived there, hidden from the mage-cities’ flying seekers in endless networks of caves and secluded coves.
“Captain Fersi,” Ovelia said, inclining her head. “Circumstances have been... difficult.” For the first time, Regel noted spotted blood from the battle on one of Ovelia’s boots. “May we board?”
“First, the passing words, if you please,” Fersi said, “or my men bolt you to the docks, m’lady.”
Regel saw that most of the crewmen had drawn and aimed casters.
“We are who we claim to be, Captain,” Ovelia said. “By Winter’s fall.”
“Until it should rise anew,” Fersi intoned, then nodded. “It’s about time, lady. We almost missed the tide.” He held up a hand, and the casters disappeared back into weather cloaks.
Ovelia took the captain’s arm while Regel looked around at the crewmen. Two dozen hard faces confronted him, their eyes daring him to reach for a weapon. He understood the
Regel shook his head.
“Lenalin and I,” Ovelia said. “When we were girls, named but not marked, she—she came up with this plan. We sneaked away from the palace. Perhaps Nefeti did not know us, or else he wished not to offend us. Either way, he gave us the matching marks we asked for.”
“In one night?” Regel touched his simple teardrop tattoo, which had taken an hour to craft.
“Several nights,” Ovelia said. “For a moon, we came to this place whenever we could get away unnoticed. We’d sneak out and make our way here, hand-in-hand. It was my duty to protect her, you understand, but I’d have gone anyway.” She touched the back of her neck.
“It was painful,” Regel said.
“Very.” Ovelia winced. “I held my silence throughout, as best I could. I...” She looked at her empty fingers. “I held Lena’s hand when she cried out. She clutched my hand so tightly.”
“You wanted to have your own marks of your own making,” Regel said. “Brave.”
“We were foolish,” Ovelia said. “The king was furious, of course, but Lena soothed him. She... she had a gift with words, and he forgave us. I was punished for my indiscretion, of course, but then, I deserved it. Honor would have permitted no less.” Ovelia smiled wanly.
“Indeed.” Regel had been there, secretly following Ovelia and Lenalin, and he himself had told the king of their childish rebellion. Orbrin had commanded Regel to follow them every time they slipped away—a lurking shadow to ensure their safety. “We should make haste.”
“Yes.” Ovelia pointed to one of the ships in particular, where hooded lanterns burned faintly. “If we tarry, Captain Fersi will sail without us, and it is a long swim to the Summerlands.”
Ships groaned gently in their low-city moorings, shifting with the dawn tide. The lanterns led them to a merchant caravel with white and red sails, the words White Dart emblazoned on the keel. Next to the script ran the likeness of a white bird of prey on a silver field. Regel conceived respect for this Fersi’s courage, to bear a crest with Denerre’s colors, subtle as it might be. In a world where the art of words faded year by year, symbols had great power.
A cry rose aboard the Dart . Crewmen appeared at the banister, displeased faces peering down at them shrewdly. The ship must have been waiting for some time. Then one of them spoke.
“Ah, Lady Aniset!” The boistrous voice seemed to address Ovelia with this name that did not belong to her. A thick-set man pushed between the sailors and bowed to them from the top of the boarding plank. “I was beginning to fear you would not come.”
The man had a thick accent that made his words awkward. His deeply tanned skin and bleached white hair marked him for a Free Islander, and the many gold rings and jewels in his ears and nose spoke of the Islands’ exotic traditions. The islands had not fallen to Ruin, but sages debated whether they’d ever been civilized in the first place. Pirates and deserters lived there, hidden from the mage-cities’ flying seekers in endless networks of caves and secluded coves.
“Captain Fersi,” Ovelia said, inclining her head. “Circumstances have been... difficult.” For the first time, Regel noted spotted blood from the battle on one of Ovelia’s boots. “May we board?”
“First, the passing words, if you please,” Fersi said, “or my men bolt you to the docks, m’lady.”
Regel saw that most of the crewmen had drawn and aimed casters.
“We are who we claim to be, Captain,” Ovelia said. “By Winter’s fall.”
“Until it should rise anew,” Fersi intoned, then nodded. “It’s about time, lady. We almost missed the tide.” He held up a hand, and the casters disappeared back into weather cloaks.
Ovelia took the captain’s arm while Regel looked around at the crewmen. Two dozen hard faces confronted him, their eyes daring him to reach for a weapon. He understood the
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