“You wouldn’t sacrifice yourself if my brother asked you?”

  “No, peerless one.”

  She studied him measuringly over the edge of her fan. “What if I asked you?”

  Once again, Benedikt realized that the xaan did not ask rhetorical questions. Would he sacrifice himself for her? He’d have sacrificed himself for the Starfarer. He’d have sacrificed himself for Queen Jelena. He supposed he’d have even sacrificed himself to save Janinton from the flood—it was what bards did, after all. Squirming under the weight of the xaan’s regard, he considered his options. A “yes” would be a lie. A “no” would not only be a lie but, he suspected, a really bad idea. So… should he lie to himself or to her? Survival suggested the former, integrity the later.

  “I don’t know, peerless one,” he said at last, hoping ambiguity would cover both options.

  The fan waved slowly, back and forth. “Anyone else in my household would have said yes without hesitation.”

  “But would they have meant it?” He bit his tongue, but it was too late. The words had slipped out before he could stop them. It was an instinctive, bardic question. A self-righteous, suicidal question, Benedikt corrected. We aren’t a bard anymore.

  Out of the corner of one eye, he saw the fan stop moving.

  “What difference would that make?”

  And she meant that question just like she meant every other. Thankful for the masking gauze, Benedikt opened and closed his mouth and finally fell back on, “I don’t know, peerless one.”

  “Exactly.” As the fan began moving again, she patted him lightly on the thigh with the other hand.

  Benedikt would have been a lot happier about that had he not just seen the coloas’ groom pat a woolly shoulder in much the same way.

  “… I’d say she’s got you marked for herself”.

  Maybe. But he was beginning to get the feeling sex had nothing to do with it.

  * * * *

  The road they were on went straight from the square to the docks. While not as wide as the causeway, it was clearly one of Atixlan’s major streets.

  As they moved by the lesser houses, Benedikt’s attention was caught by the rumbling of a heavily laden cart. A quick look while they passed the mouth of an alley set between garden walls showed him the back end of the cart piled high with garbage. It hit a bump while he watched, and a cloud of flies lifted off the surface of the pile.

  “Peerless one, there was a body…”

  “You seem shocked.” The xaan, herself, seemed mildly amused by his reaction. “Don’t people die in Shkoder?”

  “Yes, but we don’t throw them out with the trash.” They were past the alley now. “I saw a foot sticking out of a garbage cart.”

  “Just a foot.” Now she looked bored. “Then you don’t know it was a whole body, do you?”

  “No, but…”

  “You’re supposed to be a priest of Xaantalicta, stop squirming.”

  He sat still as the xaan commanded, but he also stared down every side street and alley they passed, afraid of what he’d find amidst the debris yet unable to stop examining it.

  Leaving the houses of both greater and lesser families behind, they entered a commercial area where the occupants of those houses found amusements and necessities of the quality they demanded. The farther they moved from the square, the less discriminating the shops until, finally, they moved between the large, grayish-yellow bulk of warehouses.

  Benedikt straightened and drew in a deep breath. Even overlaid with a hundred other smells, there was no mistaking the salt tang of the sea. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

  “Been feeling confined lately?”

  “A bit, peerless one.” He should have known she’d notice. She noticed everything.

  The road ended with the warehouses. The groom led the coloas out onto a broad paved thoroughfare that followed the curve of a deep, bowl-shaped harbor. Five huge stone piers jutted out like teeth around the bottom curve of the bowl, with smaller docks clustered closer to the open sea on either side. A sudden breeze from the right brought a familiar stink and Benedict figured he had a pretty good idea of where the fishmarket had to be.

  Used to the constant bustle of the harbor at Elbasan, he was amazed to see almost no activity on either ships or shore. Maybe it’s the heat The air was so heavy and still, his breath barely made it out through the gauze. A quick glance up at a gray-green sky, amended the theory. Or maybe it’s because we’re about to get very wet. In his admittedly limited experience, Petayn didn’t have such a thing as a light shower.

  He wasn’t the only one to check the sky.

  Prodded by bellowing in a language he didn’t understand, sailors suddenly swarmed over a low, sleek ship, tying down lines and dragging canvas over the cargo piled into the open hold.

  They were heading, the coloas moving more quickly than it had been, toward the same pier.

  “All the way to the Kraken,” the xaan commanded as they passed a pillar marked with the hands of House Kohunlich.

  The dressed stone of the thoroughfare extended out onto the pier. As the metal reinforcement in the guards’ sandals rang against it, the man doing the bellowing turned to check out the noise.

  Must have bardic ears, Benedikt thought, amazed he’d been able to hear anything over the combined sounds of his yelling and his crew’s compliance.

  “Peerless one!” The volume remained constant although the language changed. Shouting what could only be instructions to keep working over his shoulder, he bounded up the ladder to the pier and fell into step beside the xaan’s cart, apparently unconcerned when it didn’t stop.

  Coarse dark hair had been cut short around the front half of his head but hung loose over his shoulders—the first unbraided hair Benedikt had seen outside Tulpayotee’s temple—and the puckered line of an old scar was all that marred the gleaming copper skin of a muscular chest. Dark eyes gleamed under heavy brows, and the smile that split the broad face showed a front tooth inset with jade. “My heart sings at the sight of your beauty, peerless one.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Ah Chak. Not many ships continue trade at this time of year.”

  “All the more profit for those of us who do, peerless one.” He dropped his voice to a near conspiratorial whisper. “Word is, Petayn’s sun is setting.”

  “If you mean the Tulparax is dying; yes, he is.”

  “I will rejoice when you are paid the fee for docking and not your brother. Has the news of the Aliphat’s most recent attempt to take Balankanche reached your ears? Three ships were lost and with them most of their crews. The Aliphat swore on the sacred rock that she’d return again when the rains are done. The yards of Becan hum with the building of many small, deep-keeled ships.”

  “Many small, deep-keeled ships,” Xaan Mijandra repeated thoughtfully. She turned to face Ah Chak fully for the first time as the cart stopped in front of a two-masted ship flying the colors of House Kohunlich, a great wooden squid tucked up under the bowspit. “After the change, I will personally deal with your docking fees.”

  His smile broadened. “The peerless one is generous as well as beautiful.”

  “Only when she’s dry.”

  Arms spread, palms facing out, Ah Chak bowed and backed away.

  Benedikt hurriedly followed the xaan out of the cart and up the gangplank, the guards visibly straining to maintain her dignified pace. Every line on the ship stood out in stark relief against a glowering sky that seemed close enough to reach out and grab. Hoisting up his robe for faster movement, he began to count under his breath.

  On four, he reached the deck and the first drops of rain slammed dark circles into the sun bleached wood. On six he stood on the threshold of the cabin, waiting for the ship’s master to finish greeting the xaan. He stepped into the dim shelter just as the clouds grew tired of restraint. The last thing he saw before nearly solid sheets of water blocked his view, was the philosophical expression on the face of the coloas. He couldn’t see the groom, but he suspected she was looking a little less accepting.

  * * * *

  When the rain stopped a short time later, the very wet crew of a waiting pilot boat rowed the xaan’s ship out to the mouth of the harbor.

  Out of his robe, Benedikt stood on the deck and tried not to think of how much water there was all around and of how loudly it called to him. The xaan hadn’t told him they were going on a voyage. She’d told him she wanted his company but not for what. Chased on board by the rain, he hadn’t had time to think about what he was doing. Now, unfortunately, he had nothing but time.

  Once the sails went up and only the open sea lay ahead, he paced up and down the center line of the deck, as far from both railings as he could get.

  “The xaan wants you inside.”

  By the time Benedikt turned, the guard had already started back to the cabin leaving him no choice but to follow. He ducked under the low lintel and paused to let his eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. Xaan Mijandra sat cross-legged at the rear of a small dais, a large map spread out in front of her.

  “Frightened, Benedikt?”

  “No, peerless one.” When he saw her expression, he spread his hands, and sighed. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Sorquizic beat you once. I’m going to give you a chance to even the score.”

  “Peerless one?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Come here.”

  He came.

  “Look at this.”

  He sat on the edge of the dais and looked at the map. There was no sign of Shkoder or the empire or even the Antibolies. Idiot. Why would there be?

  “This is Petayn.” One hand swept down from the mountains to the sea. “Atixlan is here. We control the coast as far north as here.” A tinted fingernail tapped the map a considerable distance from the capital. “And south to Becan, here. This is Balankanche.” The fingernail traced the outline of a large island.

  The island had been drawn an equal distance from both Petayn and Becan. “Who controls Balankanche, peerless one?”

  “No one. In the time of the last Xaantalax, the islanders traded with both Petayn and Becan.” Xaan Mijandra settled back against a wicker rest, habit stretching out a hand to scoop an absent Shecquai into her lap. Recovering smoothly, she laced her fingers together and continued. “Balankanche had… has… huge deposits of gold. The Xaantalax decided to add those deposits to the riches of Petayn. After ensuring that no Balankanche trader would be able to return and give warning, she sent a fleet to take the island. They met the Becan fleet just before they arrived at Balankanche. That unexpected conflict gave warning enough.”

  “The islanders were ready for them when they landed?”

  “They never landed. Although mostly abandoned on the mainland, the worship of Sorquizic was strong on Balankanche. The priests went out in small boats and prayed to their god who took every one of them to the bottom—unfortunately, along with most of the remaining Petayn ships. No one has been able to get a ship of any kind near any part of that island since.” She paused and looked Benedikt right in the eye. “The sea rises up and prevents it.”

  Watching the rippling shadows thrown across the map by the swinging lantern, he had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.

  The xaan’s smile had all the warmth of a curved blade. “Water listens to you.”

  * * * *

  “If we’re going to take Balankanche, we have to do it now, before the Aliphat tries again.” They were leaning on the bow, the xaan braced comfortably against the railings, Benedikt standing uncomfortably behind her. “The xaan who captures the island will capture most, if not all of Petayn as well. The Xaantalax has survived the years of the Tulparax’s dying, in spite of having several living female relatives, because I threw my strength behind her as did the houses that follow my lead. I made sure she came to depend on my strength rather than develop her own. After the change, I would have been the second most powerful person in Petayn.”

  Would have been? Benedikt wondered. He realized this quiet explanation was probably as close to bragging as the xaan ever came, but he didn’t feel at all relieved to discover that even the mighty needed to be reassured occasionally about how clever they were.

  “Then you came into my hands. At first I discounted your so-called powers—who wouldn’t, you couldn’t even save your own ship, after all—but you dealt with the flood and I began to ask myself, why second? Why not first? It isn’t unheard of for houses to rise and for other houses to fall.”

  The matter-of-fact way she announced what amounted to a palace coup, lifted the hair on the back of Benedikt’s neck. It made the tul’s desire for power look like childish pique at being denied what he considered his fair share. “Peerless one, isn’t the Xaantalax the earthly representative of Xaantalicta?”

  She cocked an eyebrow back over her shoulder at him. “Your point?”

  “Doesn’t that make her almost divine?”

  Xaan Mijandra grinned and scooped a handful of blowing braids back off her face. “Trust me, Benedikt, if I capture Balankanche, I’ll be divine enough.”

  “Island, ho!”

  “There, peerless one.” Benedikt pointed past her at a blue-gray smear against the horizon.

  “I see it. Now, let’s see how close we can get before we’re stopped.”

  They came close enough to see interior mountains and the blurry, undefined outline of a good-sized town, then the waves began to move almost at right angles to the wind. The Kraken’s master brought her around and, with minimum sail up, maintained a course more or less parallel to the disturbance.

  “Any closer, and Sorquizic will stop us.”

  “You want me to Sing you through Sorquizic’s barricade, peerless one?”

  “No. If you can’t remove it entirely, I want you to Sing my fleet through Sorquizic’s barricade.”

  “Your fleet,” Benedikt repeated as he walked to the part of the railing closest to the unusual wave pattern. When he leaned over the side and stared into the water, he saw what he expected to see—the giant kigh of the depths. One of them rolled to the surface, became part of crest and trough, and beckoned him in. He thought of Xhojee beckoning to him that morning and wondered if he’d known what the xaan had planned. Don’t be a fool. How could he?

  “Can you do it?”

  “This isn’t…” He dried suddenly damp palms on the front of his sawrap. “This isn’t like the flood, peerless one.”

  “More difficult.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway. “Much.”

  He heard her sigh and walk forward until she stood very close behind him. The billowing folds of her robe wrapped around his bare legs. “I can’t say that I’m not disappointed.” Her hand was cool where it gripped his arm. “But I understand. You’re not a priest of Sorquizic, how can you undo what they set in motion.”

  He stiffened. “It’s not that, peerless one.”

  “You lost your confidence when you lost your ship?”

  “No…”

  Her grip tightened, then released. “It’s all right.”

  It was not all right. She’d brought him out here expecting him to fail, and he was not going to fulfill that expectation. Benedikt moistened his lips, worked up enough saliva to swallow, and Sang the four notes to call the kigh. It was enough to get their attention but not enough to pull them out of their pattern.

  You come to us, they replied.

  He felt himself responding, reaction to the kigh mixed up with reaction to the warm presence of the xaan, and he threw himself into the Song, away from the distraction of his body.

  Caught up, thrown about, he was a pebble in a current, his rough edges worn smooth by the unceasing movement of the water all around him. He wasn’t Singing the pattern the priests had set in motion with their sacrifice so many years before, it was Singing him and, had the kigh not helped him learn the Song of Sorquizic, he would have drowned standing dry on the Kraken’s deck.

  When he finally Sang the gratitude and came back to his body, he found himself pressed painfully tight against the railing. At some point, although he couldn’t remember when, one of the kigh had come to him. He was dripping wet and the deck around him was soaked. Not all the moisture on his sawrap had come from the sea.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he half-turned, clutching the rail for support.

  The xaan’s mouth moved, but he could hear nothing over a Song almost too large to be contained within one bard’s head. She frowned, and spoke again. “The barricade is still there, Benedikt.”

  Nodding, he managed to gain control of his voice and wasn’t surprised to find it little more than a rough whisper. “But now I know how it was built, peerless one, I can create a Song to remove it.”

  “Now?”

  “No. It’ll take time.”

  “How much time?”

  He rubbed saltwater from his eyes and considered the complexities of a pattern twenty-three priests had died for. “I don’t know, peerless one.”

  “That’s three times today. I’m beginning to dislike that answer.”

  When she moved toward him, he tried to step back, but his hips were already pressed against the side of the ship. There was nowhere to go but into the sea.

  Trapped.

  Barely back in control of his own thoughts, really not up to marshaling a defense, he asked himself what Bannon would do and didn’t much like the answer. He hadn’t known the ex-assassin well, but he had a feeling that if approached by a beautiful threatening woman, Bannon wouldn’t have backed up.

  Standing so close Benedikt’s sawrap dampened her robes, the xaan stared up at him. “I must have Balankanche before the end of the rainy season. You have a limited time to create your Song.”

  “Peerless one. I must turn the Kraken now if we’re to reach the harbor before sunset.”

  At the ship master’s interruption the xaan closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course,” she murmured. Opening her eyes, she sighed. “Do it. A limited time,” she repeated to Benedikt as the minimal crew raced for the lines. “Get yourself something to drink. You look like you could use it.”