Flamecaster (38 page)

In another tavern, far away in the port city of Spiritgate, Evan Strangward killed time, nursing an ale and playing nicks and bones with himself. He'd glamored his appearance, so that to any but his stormsworn guard, he wore the brown skin and straight black hair of a traveler from We'enhaven.

He shivered and turned up the collar of his coat. He sat close to the door so that every time it opened, the raw wind from the Indio howled in. He'd chosen this seat on purpose, so he wouldn't miss anyone coming and going.

He'd been too long in these wetlands. He would be glad to go back to the sunbaked land he called home. For multiple reasons.

He heard familiar footsteps, and turned. It was Teza. Just Teza. It was what he'd expected, it was what he'd demanded, in fact, but he was still disappointed.

“My lord,” Teza said, shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

Evan smiled. “Ah, Teza, I can't imagine that the Maker is looking after the likes of me. I've not seen any sign of it so far.” He stood, opened his arms, and they embraced.

“Destin didn't insist on coming with you?” Evan asked, reclaiming his seat.

Teza shook his head. “He said he could be of more use to you in Ardenscourt.”

“Not if he's dead.”

“He says he has no plans to be dead, my lord.” Teza settled into the empty chair.

I don't want him to be of use to me, Evan thought. I want him to forget about me. I want him to kill that monster of a father, leave Arden, and find a house by the sea.

I want him to be happy.

“The plans we make are not the problem,” Evan said. “It is the machinations of others. Did you give him the money?”

Teza shook his head, handing over a small pouch. “I tried. He refused it.”

Again, Evan wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed. He signaled for the server.

“You've lost weight,” Teza said. He looked travel-worn and hollow-cheeked himself.

Evan rolled his eyes. “It never takes you very long to start in nagging. It's this rich wetland food. We'll be fine once we get back to salt pork, way bread, and rations of rum.”

“When you were late,” Teza said, “I—I didn't know what might have happened.”

“I usually travel much faster by sea than you would by land, but I ran into trouble in Middlesea, and I had to sail farther north to make a landing.”

“The empress?”

Evan nodded. “The entire port was infested with Cele's spies. I think she's planning to come find the girl herself. Everything points that way. I'd hoped to sail from there, but it was too risky.”

“We need to be gone before she arrives.”

“I suspect she'll land at Baston Bay. She's one to go straight for the heart.”

The server arrived tableside. “Two ales and two lamb pies,” Evan said.

“My favorites,” Teza said, smiling, as the server hustled away.

“Were you able to arrange for a ship?”

Teza nodded. “She's a two-masted schooner. No match for
Sun Spirit
, but she'll do, I think.”

“How many of the stormsworn did we lose?” Evan asked. “Can we crew a schooner?”

“We lost Ephraim and Trey on the ship,” Teza said. “Plus the two in the tower.”

“I don't like to hire casual crew. They ask too many questions, and talk too much after. I'll just have to make do with what we have.” He paused. “Could Des tell you anything more about what happened down at the harbor?”

Teza scowled. “It's like someone spilled a box of puzzle pieces and none of them fit together. Ephraim and Trey were in the pilothouse. They had stab wounds and slashes all over their bodies, and, apparently, bled to death before the explosion. In and around the hold, there were seven dead priests.”

“Priests?” Evan rocked back in his chair, resting the heels of his hands on the edge of the table.

Teza nodded. “Most were badly burned. It looked like they tried to go down into the hold and somehow the dragon got out of the collar and flamed them. Then escaped.”

“Hmm. Doctrinal differences, no doubt.”

“My lord?”

“The church flames mages, and dragons flame priests.”

“Oh. I see, my lord.”

Evan sighed. Destin would have understood immediately. Teza was willing, but Evan's humor usually went right over his head.

“It seems that somebody who knew what he was doing used explosives to blow up the ship.” Teza set his bag on the table and opened it. “Destin found two collars in the hold. There was this one.” He held up the collar they'd
used on the dragon. “And this.” He handed over another silver collar in a smaller size.

Evan tapped the runes etched into the silver. “Why is this familiar?”

“According to Destin, this is the collar that the healer wore.”

Evan looked up, puzzled. “The healer?” Had he met a healer?

“The collared mage at the meeting. The one responsible for ‘magical threats.' Speaking of threats, you'll find some interesting enhancements to that.” He pointed his chin at the neckpiece.

“Ah.” Evan saw what Teza meant. The collar was typical of flashcraft, except for the tiny bottles and pouches attached to the inside. “Something tells me that these are not medicinal.” He shook his head, bemused. “What would he have been doing on my ship? We barely spoke.”

“Someone wanted to prevent us from making a deal with Montaigne,” Teza said.

“More likely, they wanted to prevent the empress from making a deal with Montaigne,” Evan said. “Could it have been agents from the Fells?”

“That's the common opinion,” Teza said. “The entire countryside is in a frenzy of superstition. The churches are packed. They think the wolf queen is going to send more dragons swooping down on them.”

“One day I'll have to meet this demon queen and see if
she really eats babies for supper.” Maybe I'll sail north, he thought, instead of east.

“Just wait until they meet the empress.”

“I hope they don't,” Evan said, his smile dying away. “I hope I'm wrong.” He cleared his throat. “Any word on who killed Montaigne?”

“Rumor has it that he killed himself. He was despondent over recent events, and went a little crazy.”

Evan snorted. “If true, it would be the first good deed he's ever done. But I don't believe it. Somebody finally got to him.” He raised his glass. “To dead Montaigne,” he said softly.

Teza raised his own glass. “To dead Montaigne.” They clanked. “See? It wasn't a complete disaster. Montaigne is dead, and we prevented the empress from getting hold of the magemarked girl. That's something.”

“But Jenna Bandelow is dead, too, and we don't know any more than we did before. We don't even know what her gift really was.” Evan brushed his fingers over the back of his neck, tracing the symbol embedded there. Different from Jenna's, and yet somehow connected, rooted in the same magic, the same history.

“You didn't kill the girl.”

“She'd still be alive if I hadn't intervened.”

“Maybe not for long. In any event, we couldn't risk leaving her there for the empress to find. We couldn't chance an even more powerful Celestine.”

The food came. Evan waited until the server moved away again, then leaned in, pitching his voice low. “Why does my life count for more than Jenna's? She was smart and brave, Teza! I think we would have been friends. It seems like we should be allies. It's one thing to kill someone because they know too much. It's another to kill someone because they can't provide the answers you don't have yourself.”

“What do you think Cele will do when she finds out the girl is dead?”

“What she always does. She'll go back to hunting me. Maybe I should just get it over with and arrange a meeting.”

“No!” Teza said, too loudly. He looked around. Several people were staring, but they hurriedly returned to their meals. “Look,” he said softly, “no one can fault you for trying to survive.”

“No one but me,” Evan said. “I always put the ones I love at risk.” He paused. “It's getting late. Let's finish up so you can walk me down to this ship you've found. We'll need to be ready to catch the tide.”

Change is good, right? Maybe. But it's never been easy for me. I'm not the girl who leaves, I'm the girl who's left behind. And yet, here I am, launching a new series with a new publisher.

Fortunately, in the small-world tangle that is publishing, some good things continue, and others come around again. My new series is set in the familiar world of the Fells, where you still don't want to be one of my characters.

I continue to benefit from the wise counsel of my agent, Christopher Schelling, who has managed to scrub every vestige of Ohio from his skin and from under his nails but who still houses a huge Midwestern heart. Thanks to my foreign rights reps, Chris Lotts and Lara Allen, who
decipher the indecipherable.

The team at HarperCollins has given me such a warm welcome. I am beginning this new journey with an old friend, senior editor Abby Ranger. I first worked with Abby at my previous publisher, Hyperion. Abby knows how to sound those chords that are in your heart already. There are very few suggestions she makes that don't resonate.

I've been extraordinarily fortunate in my covers throughout my career. Thanks to designer Erin Fitzsimmons and illustrator Sasha Vinogradova, the winning streak continues with a spectacular cover for
Flamecaster
, full of pizzazz and glitterbits. Senior art director Amy Ryan oversaw the cover process, dealing patiently with ephemeral demons in the artwork and adding sparkle at every stage.

The publicity, sales, and marketing staff are critical in bringing my work to the attention of readers. Thanks to publicist Lindsey Karl, the marketing team of Nellie Kurtzman (another familiar face!) and Jenna Lisanti, and associate publisher and senior vice president of sales Andrea Pappenheimer. They have all made me feel like a visible fish in the publishing pond.

As always, thanks to my husband, Rod, the most responsive webmaster ever; my sons and other early readers; and all of the other writers who offer critique, support, commiseration, sage advice, and the occasional glass of wine. I raise my glass to all of you.

Photo by Augusten Burroughs

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author
CINDA WILLIAMS CHIMA
writes fantasy for teens of all ages, including the Heir Chronicles and the Seven Realms series. Her critically acclaimed books have appeared on numerous state awards lists. She lives in Ohio with her family, and she is always working on her next novel. Find out more at
www.cindachima.com
.

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