them if they are not. Either way, they in turn could draw or drive his enemies, the objects of his dark desires, north to Andratan.
As he thinks of this, Husk finds he needs to breathe, needs to pant. The hoarse sound fills the room, rattles the few wet bones lying on the bed, slaps off the dripping walls.
His day of revenge may be postponed, but it is not cancelled. It cannot come soon enough.
FISHERMAN
CHAPTER 9
CYLENE
NOETOS GLANCED UP WHEN he heard someone emerge from the hatch—the woman Moralye. He returned his attention to the cabin. Kidson had shouted something a moment earlier; the fisherman half-suspected it was a prelude to some foolish dash for freedom and eased his sword an inch or so from its scabbard. Cyclamere took a step towards the cabin, his blade in his hand. But a flash of sunlight on honey-blonde hair caught the corner of Noetos’s eye and his head snapped back even before his brain made sense of what he’d seen.
“Cylene!” he cried, and she smiled.
Her hair was bedraggled, her skin pale, cheeks hollow and eyes ringed with weariness, but none of that mattered to Noetos. He saw only the golden halo surrounding her caring features and the bright intensity of her smile. A moment later she was in his arms, repeating his name as he did hers, her tears beginning to flow. There were other noises, sudden movement around them, but he was robbed of the capacity to notice them. His heart had returned to him.
“I didn’t realise I’d given myself to you when I told you my story,” she said to him. “But I have.”
He held her fiercely. “And I you,” he replied. “I have missed you.”
“I can see,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
“Was it terrible, the storm?” he asked. At her nod, he continued: “It was beyond description on the land. I can only imagine how frightening it must have been on the sea. It was a god-storm, you know.”
She kissed him on his cheek. “I was a stone in a basket. Apparently we lost a mast at the beginning of the storm, and many of the crew were dragged overboard in the rigging, but I never saw it. Kidson locked me in his cabin, said I was the only cargo on the vessel worth saving.”
“The man got something right.”
“What, locking me in his cabin? How could that be right?”
For a moment he thought she was serious, that he’d offended her; but her merriment played around her eyes and on her lips.
“No, you foolish girl,” he growled, assuming a mock-ferocious grimace. “Saying you were the only cargo worth saving.”
He was rewarded with a smile, which changed into a frown.
“Kidson left the passengers to fend for themselves,” she said. “Those who stayed below decks were battered, many to death. Others ventured topside during a lull in the storm, only to be swept away when the wind returned. Eventually even Kidson gave up trying to sail the ship and joined me in his cabin.”
“Did he—”
She put a finger on his lips. “I am his property,” she said, an answer of sorts. “But his thought was to get as drunk as he could so he would not be aware of his own passing. He barely spoke to me.”
“How did you survive?”
“Noetos, I will tell you all of my story, but not now. We are not safe here. Perhaps you could introduce me to your friends and we could exchange stories later? That is, if you aren’t just going to leave me on this beach?”
“Leave you? Of course not!”
Something thudded into his back. Cylene gasped.
“After him!” someone cried.
Noetos turned his head. Anomer had dropped onto the cabin wall and he and Cyclamere were leaning over and staring down at a broken section of the lower rail. Noetos could not make any sense of what had just happened.
Arathé was trying to say something, but she had forgotten to signal, so urgent were her words. She came towards Noetos as quickly as she could.
“You have been hit,” Duon said, his eyes wide.
It took a moment for Noetos to realise the man was talking to him. He let go of Cylene. “Hit? What with?”
The coldness spreading across his lower back answered his question; he knew what he would find even before his hand touched the knife handle.
“Sit down,” Duon said, his voice firm; but Noetos was already on his knees, breathing shallowly as the pain began. It was far more intense