Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3) Page 16

  Yanko hadn’t meant to imply that it was her fault he’d been caught wearing it and lifted a hand in protest.

  “I suggest you avoid all battles while looking for the prince.” She patted him on the back and walked off to help others.

  Kei squawked as he flew in from the yacht and landed on Yanko’s shoulder. “Rum-swilling sea monkeys! Sea monkeys!” His beady eyes peered around the deck.

  “Actually, those were the pirates.” Yanko pointed his thumb toward the remains of the Turgonian airship. “We’re on a Nurian ship now.”

  “Jorrats, Jorrats!”

  “How are you going to avoid battles when your parrot insists on insulting everybody within hearing range?” Lakeo asked.

  “I don’t know.” Yanko rubbed his face. “I don’t know.”

  The Great City was burning.

  Yanko stood at the yacht’s railing and stared across the water at the flames lighting the night sky. He had never been to the Great City, but he had read all about it in books and studied maps and illustrations. He knew which of the six hills held the Great Chief’s palace. It was aflame, as was much of the waterfront. Distant booms floated from great warships in the harbor, the crews firing openly on the city.

  “Why?” Yanko whispered to himself, though he wasn’t alone at the railing. Most of the yacht’s crew as well as Dak had come out to look as soon as the flames had come into sight. “Why destroy the capital?”

  “A new ruler may have an easier transition if the physical home of the government that’s existed for centuries is destroyed,” Dak said.

  “Turgonia didn’t do that, and you changed completely from an empire to a republic.” Yanko didn’t know as much as he should about how their transition had gone, but it was hard to imagine such a change without some bloodshed.

  “No, but Emperor Sespian didn’t particularly want his job, and he seemed content to dissolve the empire and embrace the new republic. Your Great Chief is—was?—a different matter.”

  Tynlee drifted up to join them, gripping the railing for support that the calm sea shouldn’t have demanded. “The problem with studying the mental sciences,” she whispered, “is that you learn to feel the emotions of human souls in pain. A great many people in the city are in pain.”

  “The docks are burning,” the captain called from behind them, “and ships are firing on the waterfront. We can’t put into the harbor there. Honored Consul? Another port?”

  Tynlee dropped her chin to her chest, not answering.

  “Yellow Delta?” Dak suggested. “It’s less than a hundred miles away but a sleepy mill town. It shouldn’t be a contended city for the factions.”

  The captain waited for Tynlee to reply.

  She took a deep, shaky breath, then nodded. “Yellow Delta, Captain. May the dolphin goddess guide us to a safe port. May there be a safe port.”

  The hair on the back of Yanko’s neck stirred in warning. Someone on the mainland or one of those ships was using magic to investigate them. Tynlee’s head came up sharply, and he knew she sensed it too.

  “Can you shield us from prying eyes, Yanko?” she asked. “I can protect my own mind, but…”

  “I’ll do my best.” Yanko reached out, trying to find the source of the scrying magic. There, on one of the warships, a mage looked toward them with more than his eyes.

  Yanko attempted to create an illusion of an empty sea. There was nothing out here but a few logs bobbing in the waves. Maybe a whale.

  He hoped it wasn’t too late for that. Though Tynlee and her yacht shouldn’t be an obvious target—what could any faction gain by kidnapping a minor diplomat?—those people had to be on edge. Maybe they would attack anyone who they didn’t recognize right now.

  Yanko sensed the other mage withdrawing his touch, either believing they weren’t there or believing a little yacht wasn’t worth worrying about. Either way was fine with him.

  “Good,” Tynlee murmured, perhaps sensing it too. “Yes, Captain,” she called over her shoulder. “Take us down the coast to Yellow Delta as quickly as possible. Better to arrive before dawn, so our passengers can depart without notice.”

  She looked at Yanko, but she looked longer at Dak.

  “I appreciate your willingness to help me travel unnoticed into your country, my lady,” Dak said.

  “I trust Yanko will keep an eye on you. And vice versa.”

  Yanko found it interesting that she believed that, since she couldn’t likely see into Dak’s mind any more than Yanko could.

  “I’m less certain about the other spies,” Tynlee said wryly, looking toward the stern of the ship where Amaranthe and Sicarius stood in the shadows, also watching the coastline.

  Yanko wasn’t certain about them either.

  “But they did assist us in battling the pirates and saving the Nurian ship,” she said.

  “So we owe them a favor?” Yanko wondered if that was her thinking.

  “We’ve given them passage. I think that makes us even.”

  “Does that mean you’re not offering us a ride back?” Dak asked.

  “I promised your professor that I’d take him to a friendly port as soon as I speak with a few of my colleagues and get updates. I might be willing to come back for you, should you provide me with a few intriguing stories for my novel research. I’m still hoping you’ll think of a few things that aren’t classified and that you can share.” Tynlee smiled, though her gaze kept shifting to the shore, and her heart didn’t seem in the request.

  “Mm,” Dak said, offering nothing more.

  “Have you made up the characters for your novel yet?” Yanko thought Dak might be more inclined to give Tynlee a few tidbits if he believed the project was real.

  “The hero is a former warrior-caste Turgonian officer who was cast out of his empire—hm, I must update my notes and make that a republic, unless it becomes a historical novel, of course—for a crime he didn’t commit. Now, he travels all over the world, working for a mysterious organization that seeks to unite the world and guide the various governments and people toward peace.”

  “Sounds like fiction,” Dak said.

  “That’s why it’s delightful.”

  “Why would a Nurian author write a story about a Turgonian hero?”

  “They have big muscles and look good with their shirts off.”

  Dak stared at her. “That’s… not usually important in the spy novels I’ve read.”

  “Clearly, you’ve been reading inferior novels.”

  Yanko was starting to regret that he’d asked for details. Fortunately, Tynlee didn’t speak further of Turgonian muscles.

  They fell silent as the yacht sailed down the coast about two miles off shore. Here and there, a light announced some small community or wayside inn, but fortunately, there were no more burning buildings.

  When the lights of Yellow Delta came into view, more densely clustered than the lights elsewhere on the coast, Yanko let out a relieved breath. The town lay nestled in a protected bay bisected by a river, and all appeared quiet and restful.

  A single lamp burned at one end of the beach, and Yanko felt an otherworldly tingle when he looked at it. Some magic in use? The lamp was too dim to illuminate much around it, and the yacht was too far from land for him to sense much else.

  “What’s that place?” Yanko pointed. “Does anybody know?”

  “There’s a shrine there,” Tynlee said. “I can’t remember to whom—the tortoise god? Or is it the dolphin goddess? I believe the fishermen visit it and ask for guidance about whether the seas will be calm or dangerous.”

  Yanko thought of the tortoise he’d seen during his search for the lodestone and how it had guided him to the Mausoleum Bandit’s waterfall stash. At the time, he’d wondered if its appearance meant some god was keeping an eye out for him. Later, he’d dismissed the notion as silly, the idea that the gods cared about him. And yet, he wanted to believe they did, that they cared about what befell Nuria and wanted to see him succeed.

&nb
sp; The tingle made him debate the possibility anew. Maybe he would visit the shrine if there was time. It appeared to be about three miles up the beach from the rest of the city.

  “Taking us in, Honored Consul,” the first mate called from the wheel.

  Yanko found the lack of a barricade in the bay encouraging.

  They sailed into an empty slip without opposition, and Yanko let himself hope that the open fighting in the Great City hadn’t affected the majority of the countryside yet.

  Dak touched his shoulder and pointed. Two lanterns burned, highlighting a pair of posts at the base of their dock. A flagpole stuck out of one, and where Yanko would have expected the bright yellow, green, and purple of the Great Land another flag flapped. It was a plain white with a hint of blood red in the center.

  “The red crescent moon and stars,” Dak said, though he couldn’t have determined that from this distance in the poor lighting. He must have seen the flag before. “It’s the symbol of General Tang Chu, the leader of the Swift Wolves, the faction promising to create a more democratic Nuria and get rid of rule by mages and honored families.”

  A chill went through Yanko. “He’s the one who ordered the honored families rounded up and placed in internment camps?” Realizing Dak hadn’t been privy to that information, even though he clearly had his resources regarding the rebel factions, Yanko looked to Tynlee.

  “The Swift Wolves are the faction the merchant captain told us about, yes,” she said, not commenting on whether Yanko should talk about it in front of one of their Turgonian agents. “Perhaps we can learn more about it in this town, especially if his troops occupy it.”

  “I will be looking for information on Prince Zirabo,” Dak said.

  “As will I.” Yanko hadn’t forgotten his mission, but he did feel bleak about the odds of success now. First, he had to find Zirabo, and then, they had to figure out how to get a fleet of Nurians together and out to the new continent in time to claim it. With war filling the country, how would they manage to put together such a fleet? The Turgonians might have already arrived at the new land and planted their flag. He shook away the defeatist thoughts. He couldn’t give up yet. “It’s my duty,” he added firmly.

  After he completed his mission, he could look for his family.

  “I will seek out information on the internment camps,” Tynlee said. “The Nurian government doesn’t maintain an office here, but I have a contact in Yellow Delta, assuming she’s still at the same address.”

  “Another diplomat?” Yanko asked.

  “My publisher, actually.”

  “You have a publisher already? For the Turgonian muscle book?”

  Dak made a noise between a laugh and a snort and a grunt.

  “For my academic texts,” Tynlee said a little tartly.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “I suspect I’ll have to find a Kyattese publisher for my novel when the time comes. They’re more liberal in what they’ll print. I would ask the Turgonians, since the hero will surely appeal to Turgonian men and women, but I haven’t found them overly eager to work with Nurian authors. My academic texts, despite being foundational in many universities around the world, haven’t yet been translated into Turgonian.” She pursed her lips at Dak, as if he were somehow responsible for this shortcoming.

  One of the crew members lowered the gangplank.

  “I’ll get my belongings,” Yanko said.

  He trotted down to the cabin he shared with Dak and grabbed Sun Dragon’s scimitar and his pack, the warrior-mage robe stored out of sight inside. Other mages would sense the items, but there was nothing to be done. He didn’t want to be without them in case he ended up in a battle.

  When he returned to the gangplank, he found Dak speaking quietly in Turgonian with Sicarius and Amaranthe. Tynlee and her two bodyguards were already strolling up the dock toward a watchman—or maybe a port-authority officer—ambling sleepily toward the yacht with a lantern. She greeted him with a cheerful hello.

  Dak said some parting words and waved toward the city. Sicarius nodded curtly and hopped to the dock, eschewing the gangplank. Dak strode across it, the wood trembling slightly under his big frame.

  Amaranthe surprised Yanko by turning to him before following the men. She started to extend a hand, but then did an approximation of a Nurian bow.

  “It was good to meet you, Yanko. I hope you and Dak are successful in your search for Prince Zirabo. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems good for your people, so I hope he’s all right.”

  “Thank you.” Yanko returned the bow, but he wasn’t sure how much else to return. “I’m not sure whether it’s right for me to wish you success on your mission or not.”

  Amaranthe winked instead of taking offense. “Such is the way of the secret-agent world.”

  She waved and jogged off after Sicarius—wherever he had gone. He hadn’t simply strode up the dock, and Yanko had lost sight of him. Amaranthe’s parting words hadn’t done anything to make him worry less about what those two would be up to in his country.

  “Yanko?” Arayevo called from behind him.

  He turned to find Arayevo and Lakeo walking toward the gangplank. Jhali wasn’t in sight. Yanko wondered if she was waiting until later to skulk off on her own mission or if she had already gone, disappearing as easily as the Turgonian spies.

  For some reason, it stung him that he might not see her again and that she hadn’t said anything to him. He hadn’t expected a warm farewell, but maybe a parting shot. Or a warning that he should watch his back for other mage hunters, because the sect still had orders to kill him. He grimaced.

  Lakeo poked him in the shoulder.

  “Yes?” He focused on her and Arayevo. Mostly Arayevo. “Are you coming with me to look for Zirabo, or…?” He didn’t want to see her go, but he’d reluctantly come to accept that she would never fall in love with him and go off somewhere simply because he wished it. Nor did she share his love for and loyalty to Nuria.

  Lakeo was the one to answer. “I’ve got a few things to sell.” She waved at her pack. “Then I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Enough to finance your education?” Yanko didn’t want the details of what she’d looted, but he did wonder if she would also leave. He trusted that after all they had been through together, she wouldn’t go off without a word, but he highly doubted she truly cared if Prince Zirabo was alive or dead. Or if Nuria burned, for that matter.

  “Nah. We should have taken down wealthier pirates. Maybe next time.” Lakeo shrugged. “Besides, since I’m technically a criminal on Kyatt right now, I’m not sure if I could enroll in their university even if I had the outrageous tuition money. I’d have to wear a costume and assume a secret identity.”

  Yanko eyed her bare muscled arms. “You’re somewhat memorable.”

  She thumped him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “If you help me complete my quest, perhaps Prince Zirabo would have the diplomatic sway to have the Kyattese police forget about your crime. It was small, after all. A minor theft.”

  “From the way things look to be going in Nuria right now, Prince Zirabo probably doesn’t have the sway to wipe his own ass.”

  Yanko winced at the language. The world might be falling apart, but that didn’t mean he found it acceptable to say crude things about the chosen family.

  “But if you want me to keep helping you, just say it, Yanko.”

  “I want you to keep helping me.” Yanko was surprised that the words came out sincerely. He had Dak for muscle, so he probably didn’t need Lakeo’s burly arms, and she had a sharper tongue than Kei, but… he considered her a friend. They had been through too much together for him not to. Besides, he could keep an eye on her if she stayed close. If she went off on her own, he worried her dreams might get her into trouble that she couldn’t extract herself from.

  Lakeo leaned back, her mouth parting. Had she not expected him to admit that?

  “Oh, all right then. Good.” She thumped him on the s
houlder again. “I’ll be back soon.”

  She ambled down the gangplank.

  “I will also meet up with you later,” Arayevo said. “Unless you wish to visit the Falcon’s Flight with me?”

  “Isn’t that Captain Minark’s ship?”

  “Yes. I saw it on the way in. It’s docked down there.” She pointed to a slip farther from land than theirs.

  Yanko stared in dismay. He’d been worrying about the smuggler turning up in Turgonia. What would he be doing here? And Arayevo wouldn’t go back to him, would she? Visit, she’d said. What did that mean? Yanko may have accepted that he and Arayevo weren’t meant to be, but it stung to think that she might still want to travel with that odious smuggler, Minark. She’d called him monkey brains.

  “I don’t usually put much stock in the gods or even have any certainty that they exist,” Arayevo went on, “but I do wonder if some divine hand might have guided us here. What are the odds that we would end up at the same port as Minark?”

  Yanko scowled. Even though he’d just been thinking about the gods protecting and guiding him, he hadn’t had that smuggler in mind.

  “It’s probably the only port that’s not on fire,” he muttered. He knew he sounded grumpy and sullen, but he couldn’t keep himself from blurting, “You’re not going to rejoin him, are you?”

  Arayevo hesitated, her gaze shifting out toward the dark sea beyond the protected bay. “He’s a dolt, I admit, but you know I’m drawn to the sea. And adventure.”

  “Maybe Consul Tynlee could offer you a position on her consulate’s yacht. You’re a good sailor now. Any captain should love to have you.”

  She turned a wry smirk toward him. “A diplomat’s yacht isn’t a typical vessel for adventure.”

  “We fought an airship and pirates on it.” Yanko didn’t truly expect her to accept the offer, an offer he had no right to make, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t give up on changing her mind about sailing with people who skirted or outright broke the law. It still appalled him that she thought it would be delightful to be a part of his mother’s pirate fleet.

  “I doubt that’s a regular occurrence.”