Nightfall waded through the strange sensation of fear overtaking logic, forcing himself to tuck and drive his weight downward as he struck the foaming water. The impact barely hurt. Cold water closed around him, muting hearing to a dull rumble and stinging his eyes with salt. Shocked free of the mind-numbing dread, he swam easily to the surface, searching for the same exhilaration that had brought him to this position. As soon as his head broke the waves, his ears filled with clapping and cheers. Sailors and guards alike stood near the rail, applauding an act he could only consider stark insanity.
For a moment, Nightfall froze, again assailed by fear. He had drawn attention to himself in a way he never would have dared in the past. It did not matter that he had gained admiration rather than notoriety or terrified obedience. He had deliberately lived his life in the shadows. To do otherwise, he knew, might spell his death. He had dodged his mother’s rages by disappearing when she sought a target, by remaining quiet and docile to avoid further fueling her ire. He had survived the wild streets by dodging predators whenever possible. Quickness and cunning had served as better tools. Even the demon had never needed bluster. The populace feared the mysterious figure of darkness, his subtlety more terrifying than any outright threat.
Nightfall forced himself to move. The seawater dragged the heat from his limbs, slowing body and wits. He had wanted the guards’ respect, and now he had it. Circumstances had changed, and he needed to change with them. If the part of Sudian required grand displays of mischievous whim, then he would play that role with the same seriousness with which he did every other. Perhaps he might even learn to enjoy it wholly, without the worries dredged from the more practical, deeper parts of his being.
Rather than force the sailors to unburden rescue lines, Nightfall changed his course for the docks. He caught the planks, dropped his weight, and effortlessly hurled himself over the railings. Though meager here, the wind chilled him to the bone. He shivered wildly, restoring his weight.
Smart. Kill yourself with fever showing off for a bunch of men you’ll never see again.
Before he could take a dozen steps, five of the Schizian guards surrounded him, draping him with woolen blankets.
The scrawny, young blond ducked under the folds as they walked toward the ship. “That was splendid! Amazing! Did you do all that for me?”
Nightfall did not reply, savoring the mass of the blankets across his back, head, and shoulders and the instant warmth they provided.
The blond did not seem to notice he had gotten no response. “My name is Dawser, by the way. Can you teach me to climb like that?”
The other guards ignored Dawser. They clapped Nightfall on the back with the hearty greetings of an old friend.
“Well, done, donner,” Harvistan said, his mouth against a fold of wool directly over Nightfall’s ear.
“Impressive.”
“Stupendous!”
“Astounding performance. Ever think of becoming a guard?” That last question, from graying Ivin, struck Nightfall as so funny he sucked in a mouthful of salty saliva, sending him into a round of desperate coughing.
Dawser withdrew. The back pats continued, and a swarthy, middle-aged man with eyes dark as coals said, “Now what’d you have to go and say that for, Ivin. Becoming a guard. What a terrible thought. Why would you want to wish our lot on anyone?”
They all shared a laugh, then, which gave Nightfall time to regain his composure.
“You know,” Harvistan said, still grinning. “A little dance on the side pieces probably would have sufficed.”
“Hear, hear!” three said simultaneously, though one added, “Though not half as fun.”
Arriving at the ship, they bundled Nightfall back aboard. A cabin boy met them as they stepped aboard, bowing vigorously and repeatedly. Blond and densely freckled, he appeared to be about ten years old, probably the captain’s or a sailor’s son. “Excuse me, my lord. Please, my lord. I thought you might like to go to your cabin now.”
My
cabin?
Nightfall nearly walked right past the boy in his astonishment. “Me?”
The boy’s cheeks flushed, and the freckles leaped into bold relief. His bowing became more agitated. “Yes, my lord. You, my lord.” He paused mid-bow. “You are the Lord Chancellor Adviser to the King of Alyndar, are you not?”
Though Nightfall heard way too many syllables in that title, he could not wholly deny it. “I suppose that’s me.”
“Follow me, my lord.” The boy headed midship, shoulders tensed, walk stiffened by nervousness.
The guards gave Nightfall a few more pats, and several took back their blankets, leaving only one. He pulled that last around his head like a cloak. Though sodden, it seemed better than nothing.
As the boy led Nightfall around the main sail, several of the sailors paused to give Nightfall an appreciative whistle, a word of impressed encouragement, or a touch. Wrung out by the attention and the wariness it raised, he appreciated the cabin boy’s timing. He usually shied from touches, never certain which hand might hold a dagger or when one might turn from a friendly grip to a blow or imprisonment. The boy paused at the hold and gestured Nightfall over the coamings and down the wooden rungs of the short ladder leading between decks.
Accustomed to sleeping on the upper deck, Nightfall hesitated. The ’tween looked dark and dingy, though he could see unlit lanterns hanging from gimbal rings. Plank dividers had been thrown up, forming makeshift walls to the left and right. Another hole, smaller and offset from the first, led down to the cargo and storage areas on the lowest deck. Nightfall went below, and the boy followed.
“This room is yours, my lord,” the boy said, gesturing at the second door on the starboard side. The first, Nightfall guessed, would belong to Ragan, while the guards would sleep in layered bunks on the port side.
Nightfall pushed open the door to his cabin. Though the walls had clearly been tossed together quickly, it seemed roomy and surprisingly comfortable for a ship’s hold. A single cot took up most of the far corner, covered with fresh-smelling straw and blankets. A plain clay chamber pot sat in one corner, a wooden chair in another. The chest King Edward had ordered brought to Schiz filled the space between the bed and the seat. Nightfall’s other set of silks lay in a neatly folded pile on the floor near the pot, his boots cleaned and oiled beside them. Soaked to the skin, clothes sodden, water dripping from his hair, he would have traded his best dagger for fresh warm linens and a hearth; but fire aboard a ship was far too dangerous to place into the hands of landlubbers. Even the sailors rarely allowed for such luxuries, dining on raw sea fare as often as cooked.
The boy waited in silence until Nightfall entered the room and turned. “Is there anything else I can get for you, my lord?”
Nightfall drew the blanket more tightly around him. The boy could not provide what he really wanted, and he already had more than he needed.
Power and knowledge,
Dyfrin had often told him,
live in unexpected places
. On a whim, he gestured the boy inside. “Yes. I need to talk to you for a moment.”
The boy’s nostrils flared, and his lids rose to reveal large, innocent brown eyes. Nevertheless, he dutifully followed Nightfall inside where he stood stiffly, awaiting an order.
Since the boy seemed concerned about what Nightfall wanted, he kept his distance and motioned the child to sit.
The boy perched on the edge of the chair. Only then, Nightfall closed the door and walked to the bed. He remained standing, however, not wanting to soak the straw and make it unsuitable for sleeping. “What’s your name?”
“Danyal, my lord.” The boy looked at his boots, avoiding Nightfall’s gaze.
“Mine’s Sudian,” Nightfall said. He crouched to the boy’s level.
“Yes, sir.”
Nightfall read fear in every coiled sinew. He tried to put the cabin boy at ease. “I’m not going to hurt you, Danyal.” When the boy still did not relax, he added, “I’m not going to touch you. I just want to give you this.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out three silver coins, more than Danyal had probably seen in a lifetime.
Now the boy looked up, though his gaze went no farther than Nightfall’s hand. He rose, approached, and started to reach for the money but stopped mid-movement. His attention finally flicked to Nightfall’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord. But what would this be buying?”
Now Nightfall understood what he should have realized sooner. Most sailors believed a woman aboard bestowed ill luck upon an ocean voyage. When the rare female did embark, it was always in the company of a husband or guard. Weeks ship-bound could make any man hungry for intimacy; and if he could not reach the dock whores, a cabin boy might suffice for some. Nightfall’s blood ran cold, and memory assailed him from his years on the street. Foul-smelling fingers clamped over his face. A hand shoved into the rags that served as his trousers. He had escaped that rape and slaughtered the man who had attempted it, but the outrage and humiliation lingered even now. He no longer believed Danyal the son of someone aboard. More likely, yearning for adventure, he had run away to the sea, only to find the drudgery aboard as ghastly as whatever he had escaped. Nightfall forced emotion from his voice, “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to be very young, alone, and at the bottom of the world. I’m not there anymore by the grace of the Father. If this buys you something better than you have, I’ve paid back some of my debt.”
Though still wary, Danyal scooped the silver from Nightfall’s hand. “Thank you, my lord.” He spoke in the same respectful monotone, a hopeful light appearing in his eyes. He still clearly expected Nightfall to demand some service of him.
Though Nightfall had lied, it was not for the reasons the boy expected. He had stopped believing in gods when he found himself alone on the wild streets at eight. He owed nothing to the great and heavenly Father whose will Edward served. Dyfrin had steered him right on many occasions, but none had proven so true as his admonishment to treat servants with the same respect he accorded the highborn. Overtipping had gained him lifesaving allies: many a stable boy had tended their horses and gear with extra care and seen to it their belongings remained where Nightfall left them. Child servants overheard things no adult ever could, and they had an innocent way of misdirecting those they did not like and informing those they did.
Danyal shuffled toward the door. “May I go now, my lord?”
“Of course.” Nightfall took the vacated chair.
Danyal reached for the door rope.
“Danyal.”
The boy stiffened but dutifully turned. “Yes, my lord?”
“If you’re feeling overwhelmed with work and need a place to hide for a while, just come to me. I’ll pretend to give you some service to do here, and you can sleep or just relax.”
Still clearly suspicious, Danyal said nothing.
Nightfall went to the root of the boy’s concern. “I don’t . . . ‘use’ boys, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been there . . .” He paused, letting the words sink in. He had never confessed that to anyone other than Kelryn and wondered why he had done so now. “I wouldn’t inflict it on anyone else.”
Danyal finally relaxed, his shoulders dropping visibly. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The direct approach had finally broken through the last of his resistance. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Thank you, Danyal.”
Though Danyal clearly wanted to bolt from the room to fully dispel the tension, he faced Nightfall directly instead. “You’re an uncommon noble, my lord. I hope . . . I hope you always . . .”
Nightfall tried to help. “. . . remember where I came from?”
Danyal bobbed his head happily.
“I’ll try,” Nightfall promised. “Though, sometimes, all I ever want to do is forget.”
“Yeah.” Danyal seized the rope and pulled open the door. “I can understand that, too, my lord.” He disappeared through the crack, and the door banged shut behind him.
Nightfall rose and crossed the room. Taking up his dry silks, he dropped them onto the pallet, trying not to leave wet spots on the fabric. His interaction with the cabin boy pleased and unnerved him. Usually, when he sought to gain the confidence of someone, he had an ulterior motive, some scheme in mind. Though he told himself he had merely said what he needed to in order to gain the trust of someone who might know or hear something useful, he could not wholly fool himself. He liked Danyal, and the realization he had helped the boy suffused him with a warm satisfaction he could not escape.
Deal with it, Demon. You did something nice.
Nightfall dragged apart his dry clothing, separating a soft leather undergarment from the tunic and breeks in Alyndar’s purple and silver, all the while shaking his head.
What has that world-ignorant, guileless pretty-boy turned you into?
Thoughts of the king, even an insulting one, raised another stab of compassion. The most amazing part of the entire exchange was how easy it had proven. He did not have to make some wondrous and deft run through the riggings of a ship and freeze himself near to pneumonia, as he had for the guards and sailors. He had beguiled the boy with nothing more astounding than a shared truth.
As Nightfall changed from his wet clothing, using the remaining blanket to blot up the sea water, he realized Dyfrin had long ago told him what it had taken thirty-four years to figure out on his own. The parts of Dyfrin he had considered weaknesses, the actions he thought he would never comprehend, gained clarity. He wished he could tell his old friend, long his only friend, this great revelation. He could picture the soft, dark eyes in Dyfrin’s heart-shaped face willing him to understand, holding the hope that others, including Nightfall, had long ago surrendered. “Deep down, Marak, you’re a good man.” All this at a time when the only “good” he would dare apply to himself preceded the word “killer.”
Warm and dry, Nightfall lay upon his bed and studied the rescued ring. Though small, the amethysts appeared flawless, flashing tiny purple highlights around the swaying ceiling. The fist and hammer symbol of Alyndar matched the many images arrayed around Alyndar Castle, strikingly perfect for such a tiny image engraved in gold. Accustomed to assessing value from his merchant role, Nightfall realized it might prove more valuable than he first thought. Clearly, it held great significance, not only to Edward but also to his captors.